


Under the Ice

by Misericordemika



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, more tags will be added as story goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 48,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misericordemika/pseuds/Misericordemika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talon AU: Instead of Batman, the Court of Owls adopts Dick and Jason as Talons. A translation of 大麻叶's original work (with permission).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [冰封之下](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/174321) by 大麻叶. 



> Translator's note: Updates will be roughly once a week until my March exams are over. The original work is complete.

The heat of summer has already fled from Gotham.

On nights like these, even when the fireplace blazes at maximum capacity, the temperature in the room remains frigid. A queue of candles lights up the long dining table, their weak flames wavering from the salt tang of a sea breeze; they barely illuminate the faces of each person sitting at the table. The stark white masks are silent, a parliament of snowy owls.

They are elegantly dressed, rich patrons having dinner after attending theatre. The tables are empty, however, but for the rows of tulip glasses, their contents the colour of blood.

An elderly man sits at the head of the table, the hair at his temples fading grey. The straight cut of his clothing is unable to disguise his sickly hunch. Instead of a chair, he cowers in a wheelchair, a blanket draped over his lap. Beside him towers a well-built man wearing black armour and an owl mask, a stark contrast to his noble counterparts.

“A rare occasion for all the members of the Jury to gather here, all for the sake of our city’s future…..” He breaks off coughing. His bodyguard hurries to adjust the blanket.

“For centuries past, Gotham, under our jurisdiction, has maintained her methodical status quo,” he continues. “Until Batman’s appearance disrupted this balance we have protected for so long.”

He looks around the seated members. “As a result, we will now pass judgement on this criminal, and deprive him of all his rights. Please raise your hand if you agree.”

All arms lift without hesitation, their shadows converging with those of the trees swaying outside the window.

“Excellent.” The elderly man glances at his bodyguard. “The Court of Owls finds Batman guilty and sentences him to death. Our prosecutor will lead the Talons to carry out the Court’s decision. I believe that all this will end in the immediate future. Meeting adjourned.”


	2. Chapter 2

Gotham nights are wretched when raining. 

On days like this, not even stray cats and dogs would want to wander around. The streets in the slums are worse than usual, flooded by the stank smell of sewage. A few pedestrians straggle along the narrow roads. They hunch over, just managing to shield themselves with clothing pulled up over their muddy heads. 

Holding an umbrella half-flipped by the wind, Jason quickens his strides. Once he’s past this alley, he’ll be home. This thought slows him, until at last it forces him to a stop in the middle of the narrow path, his face raised towards the bloody sky. 

He doesn’t want to go home. 

He doesn’t want to see his mother lying on the bed, eyes vacant, a half-broken needle plunged into her withered arm. 

There’s no one left to play with him outside. Those with a home have gone home, while those who don’t must have also sought shelter. When not raining, this place could be quite rowdy. In addition to wandering packs of ferocious stray animals, vagabonds would lean against the walls, smoking and humming an off-beat tune. Later still would come the brightly-clad sex workers, half of their faces intricately made up, the other half blurred by neon lights. 

“Who is there?!”

A faint whimper emits from behind the garbage can - a child’s voice. Jason lets out a silent breath, putting his switchblade back into his pocket - one can never be too careful on these streets. 

“Guess.” Jason walks over, thinking that maybe a friend has escaped from the orphanage again, but he sees a stranger’s face. 

The stranger is drenched, having been in the rain for God knows how long. Upon seeing Jason, he tucks himself in even further against the garbage can, as if trying to become one with his flimsy shelter. The boy looks a few years older, with the same black hair as Jason. His eyes are baby-blue, however, and more intensely so than the sky

_ Heh. _ Jason knows a noob on the streets when he sees one. 

“Who are you?” Blue Eyes asks. The fear and suspicion in his voice lessens a notch upon seeing a child younger than him. 

“I’m Jason Todd, leader of all the kids on this block.” Jason stoops down beside him, covering him with part of his umbrella. “New, aren’t ya? I’ll shield you from now on.”

Jason has never been considered kind, or one to meddle; he can barely take care of himself. However, another kid has been threatening his position lately, and so he needs more minions. 

Blue Eyes stares at Jason, skeptical. “You look scrawny though...”

“Don’t look like it?”Jason takes out his switchblade, flicking it flawlessly between his two hands, more seasoned than most adults. Blue Eyes stares, transfixed.

“First rule of being on the streets, don’t ever fuckin’judge someone by their appearance. You’ll die.”

“Really….” Blue Eyes huddles his knees close to his chest. 

His helplessness irritates Jason. 

_ Why does he look weaker than me, when he is older? Fine, fine. I’ll take him under my wing and train him. After all, kids are easier to adapt than adults. _

“You haven’t told me your name. That’s not fair.”

“I’m Richard Grayson, but my family calls me Dick.”

“Dick? How fuckin’crude. How about changing it to a celeb name, Superstar.”

“No. My family and my… friends all call me that. I like it.”

“Fine… I’ll call you Dickiebird then. If anyone makes fun of you, I’m not helping.”

“Up to you.” Dick is stubborn despite his delicate, girlish appearance. 

“Hm, not bad for a newbie. But you could get beaten up.”

“You don’t seem that obedient either.”

_ This Dickiebird is right _ . Jason gropes for words and scratches his face, a little embarrassed. “How long have you been like this? As in homeless.”

Dick glances at Jason, and then lowers his head. “Three days, I think.”

“You said you have family? Why did you run away? Did they hit you? Or are they alcoholics or druggies? Oh God, are they…”

“They’re dead.”

“Oh.”Jason closes his big mouth, awkward. 

Silence lingers, making Jason believe that Dick is not of many words. He likes people like this - less talk more action. Usually the talkative ones die first. 

“How come you didn’t go to an orphanage? That Wayne idiot built a lot - I hear they are all great.”

Dick manages a miserable smile. “Compared to the number of orphans, that kind of orphanage is rare. I had bad luck, having been taken to one of the private ones. They ordered me to make deliveries - beating me if I don’t. I’ve seen so many kids die…”

Jason is no idiot, immediately catching on to the type of deliveries Dick is talking about. “I know about this. One of my friends does these errands. Lots of pocket money.”

“If I’d done it well, I’d be better off… but this is hurting people, and I don’t want to.”

“So you ran away?” Jason thinks Dick must have a dick for a brain. 

Dick nods. “The next time they asked me to do it, I ran two blocks with the package… I hope they think I died.”He pulls out a bundle of clear plastic that has been tightly wrapped around a large package of white powder.

Jason swallows back his stunned shriek, quickly stuffing the package back into Dick’s jacket. “Oh my God… are they idiots? Getting a kid like you to deliver so much… And never take it out in front of other people, or you’ll be dead for sure.”

“I don’t even dare go to the police. I was worried they have accomplices.” Dick forces a smile. “I wandered around your territory for three days, not daring to speak to anyone.”

“Then why are you talking to me?”

“Because you talked to me first, and shared your umbrella with me. Your jacket is soaked.”

Jason shrugs, trying to look grown-up. “What are you going to do with that?”

Dick thinks for a moment, and then takes out the package again. He violently rips it open, flinging out all the cocaine. The powder flies into Jason’s eyes. He swears, rubbing his lashes and regretfully watches Dick, who might as well be burning wads of money.

However, this is the best solution. A wealth that can’t be protected will only draw Death. 

Jason pats Dick on the shoulders, sighing. “Looks like you’ve mastered the second rule.”

There is too much powder for the flow of rain to wash them away immediately. The drugs compile like melting snow, lingering on the ground but for a moment before being absorbed into the filthy water. White streaks swirl, sinking into the sewage…

* * *

 

He jolts awake, finding himself staring at a receding fluid, a light-coloured nourishment liquid that immersed his entire body. It spins down the drain along with his blurred memories. By the time he fully wakes, the dream-like reminiscences have faded to a mere few specks. 

Through the water-strewn observatory window, he sees a man with a white mask operating the controls. He must be the dealer sent to activate him.  _ Just one person? Excellent. _

Soon the doors of the freeze chamber open with a faint gasp. Using them as support, he slowly exits. His senses are dulled; even when walking on the cold marble floor, he feels as if stepping on cotton. Instead of bones supporting blood and flesh, he perceives flimsy threads. 

Watching the Talon hobble out of the chamber, the White Mask grips his suit with nervousness. This well-built assassin is in his prime in terms of fighting strength, and despite his currently stiffened state, he will be fast as a cheetah within three hours. 

“Hello, Number 139.” The White Mask lifts his chin, attempting to consolidate his authority; he is a member of the Court of Owls, and above any lowly Talon. “Welcome back to reality.”

_ Fuck you _ . Number 139 would have said it aloud if not for his disobedient vocal cords.

_ Who am I again? Not Number 139, dammit. I have my own name. In the dream, I told it to someone. What is it? _

As if in answer to his confusion, the White Mask places a file on top of the laboratory countertop. It doesn’t contain his name, however, but a mission. Number 139 flips through the file, and then looks back at the White Mask, quizzical. 

The White Mask dares not approach, and stays an observatory distance away. 

Number 139 is different from other assassins, who are used more often. Instead, he is frequently locked away, a collectible item hidden from the prying eyes of guests. Only when the mission is extremely difficult does the Court risk awakening him. 

The White Mask has read through the Talon’s bio beforehand: master marksman and deadly close-combatant. In addition to guns and knives, he is skilled in making explosives and poisons. No empathy. No sense of honour. Due to an incident, brainwashing has failed. Strong sense of self. Erratic memories. Successful past escapes. **Extremely Dangerous. Uncontrollable.**

A moment passes; Talon seems to recover a bit more. He picks up the file again. His brain is still slow, and could only decipher the most basic of meanings. He needs to dispose of a failed Talon, and complete their botched mission. 

_ Why am I always cleaning after others? _

He studies the photo of his target - a pair of baby-blue eyes. 

_ Have I seen him before? Will he know of me? Alright then, before I kill him, I’ll ask him. If he does know me, then I won’t kill him - I’ll keep him by my side as a trophy. I don’t have to listen to what they say. I do what I want… _

Breaking out of his stream of thoughts, he lifts his head to look at White Mask, his icy green eyes reminding him of the panther he keeps at home.

But Talon is not his pet, nor is he his master.

The White Mask is naked, stranded deep in the woods with no way of defending himself. 

“Now… What time is it now?”

“You have no need to know. You are awakened only to finish this mission.”

“Hmph.”

Talon does not inquire further. He puts on his armour without another word, and starts to arm himself. White Mask watches him pry each bullet out of the cartridges, and then insert them back. At first his movements are still stiff, but gradually increases in speed and precision. This Talon appears to be using his own methods to take back control of his body. 

Having armed himself with as much weaponry as possible, Number 139 throws the intricate owl hood to the side. He doesn’t like it. 

“I don’t want that. Where are my goggles?”

Up until now, Number 139 has not demonstrated any signs of danger. The White Mask slacks: “The Talons of the Court must wear the hood. It is the law.”

“Oh, really.”

Number 139 spins around and kicks White Mask. The man teeters, collapsing to the ground. His mask slips, exposing a youthful face. He’s only in his twenties, immature and laughably full of himself. 

“What...What are you doing?!”The young man struggles to rise, but is pressed down hard by the Talon’s foot. Fazed, he looks up at the assassin towering over him, the barrel of a gun pointing straight at his forehead. 

“Number 139, you can’t kill me! I am a member of the Court!” 

Talon continues as if he does not comprehend. “The thing I wanted. Where is it?”

Only now does the young man realize that if he did not provide a satisfactory answer, he would be carried out with a hole in his head. 

“It-It’s in the cabinet beside you.”

Talon glances at the cabinet, but does not move. He looks back at the young man, and flicks his thumb over the slide-lock. The metallic click of bullets loading grates over the young man’s ears, the sound of a Death God’s scythe. 

“What are you doing?!” The young man violently struggles, but to no avail. 

“If they sent you to wake me, then it meant they have sentenced you to die.” A stiff smirk graces Talon’s lips, one that lifts at an odd angle. 

“And my name is Jason Todd, you bastard.” 


	3. Chapter 2

He’s awakened by voices.

“Father, he’s a Talon, a killer from the Court! He’s murdered countless people - we have no need of saving him!” One voice is young, belonging to that of a boy yet different from the average child in a way he could not quite place.

 _Maturity. The kid is far more wise than his age may suggest._ An inner voice answers..

He has gotten used to it. Whenever he’s awake, this voice will speak, resonating back and forth in his head with no intention of stopping. It also sounds like him, using his own voice to tell him of certain things - normal things for the average person, but to a Talon who's constantly cryogenically preserved, they are outlandish.

Time passes quickly in the real world. He comes and goes without lingering, and when he awakens once more, who knows how long has it been since? Sometimes for a mission he would hide in the darkness for an entire day, staring at these strange new things. If his voice could still answer his questions, then it meant he hadn’t been asleep for too long.

As a result, he never asks the dealer for time; he has his own.

Sometimes the voice would appear in his dreams. Like that voice, its face is identical to his as well. But that face looks to be one that often smiles, gesturing animatedly whenever he speaks. Odd. Those expressions can’t possibly belong to his face. It was as if watching a mirror, but the mirror belonged to Wonderland.

He knows not whether this is good or bad, but he doesn’t want the voice to leave. Without Jason, the voice makes an adequate companion.

Jason is number 139, his former friend.

Talons have no right to friends; their mutual relationship is that of competition. But he would always try to avoid confronting Jason; they were so close at one time, after all. The voice tells him, you cannot harm your friends and family; they need your protection.

Absurd. Jason is strong even among the Talons; he has no need of a fellow Talon telling him what to do.

“I agree with Damian. He’s been constantly brainwashed with no sense of self, not to mention he’s a loyal supporter of the Court. Saving him is like attempting to wake someone who’s brain-dead.” Another boy’s voice speaks up. This one seems to be going through puberty, a hint of rasp still evident.

_Wrong. We are anything but. Jason and I are the worst Talons at the Court. The only reason we are still alive is because they can’t find anyone better to replace us._

He does not ask the voice why; there is no need to. Success or failure, his mission is solely to kill Batman - that is his only reason for existence. As long as he is still alive, the mission continues. Too bad he’s been injected with muscle relaxants and is unable to coordinate his movements. The drugs won’t last long however, in his modified body.

Patience. Talons never lack patience.

“I trust that he has not yet been completely brainwashed.” Batman’s voice, without the cowl, sounded like that of an average middle-aged man. “While fighting, he purposely avoided a child that had stumbled across us by accident. It was only because of this weakness that we managed to capture him.”

The young boy growls in defeat. “Yeah, he’s really strong, and this means he must be eliminated! If you can’t do it, then I’ll…”

“Damian!” The man says.

The older boy interjects. “B, what are you thinking, exactly?”

The man pauses for a moment before continuing. “To have a sense of virtue after brainwashing, he is a person who is not only steadfast in his beliefs, but also one who still retains his humanity. Perhaps this Talon will be able to tell us things about the Court - we still know too little.”

“He won’t.” The young boy has calmed down. His voice is adamant. “He must have gone through strict training, along with countless brainwashing. There is no way you’ll be able to get him to talk.”

“Not necessarily,” the older boy says. “I read a psychology book - it says that humans have stronger positive emotions than negative. Should this Talon still retains his sense of morality, then we can use that to free him from their control.”

“Hn. With the time spent reading, you should have trained more. Look at your arm; you actually let that Talon break your arm, Drake.”

“Well since I’m wounded, why don’t _you_ take responsibility for this Talon? I trust that your ways will only turn him mute. Permanently.”

“Challenge accepted! It’s not like I only know how to fight. Just you watch!”

The sound of footsteps fade.

_Ah, the little Damian is angry - how uncute. Let us anticipate his methods; see if he can save us._

Save? I think I have a broken femur, a cut on my forehead, and perhaps a slight concussion. These are normal. I don’t need treatment.

_To save our spirits. You and I both desire freedom; we desire turning back to normal._

He wants to say something else, but a light pierces his vision, making him squint. Someone has undone the black fabric tied over his head.

Talon blinks behind his owl hood, adjusting to the brightness. He finds himself tied at the wrists and the ankles by magnetic cuffs, all his weaponry removed. Not a single one of his hidden gadgets could be reached. He’s tied like a hog, lying flat in a deep cave. Other than the shrill shriek of bats, he senses the beeping from Batman’s impressive equipment.

He’s in Batman’s lair.

The cave’s owner, Batman - always wearing that pointy-eared cowl - studies him. Beside him stands Red Robin. The boy has a sling for his broken arm, bruises still apparent at the corner of his mouth. He looks pathetic. If it weren’t for the fact that Red Robin is no ordinary child, Talon would have felt uncomfortable about his wounds. The voice tells him: _That’s guilt._

But he has no time for guilt, for Batman and Red Robin are calm, their emotions carefully hidden. That is not a good thing; fear or anger makes people expose their weaknesses. Calmness, on the other hand, signifies either extreme power or absolute control.

_They genuinely want to help us; they have no need to torture us like the others. They have the power to subdue us, so they need no fear. I like them; they are powerful yet not abusive. Hard to come by, wouldn’t you say?_

Talon is unable to answer. He’s not allowed personal opinions, unless such things are useful for his mission.

“I know you are awake.” Batman speaks in his normal voice, as if unafraid the Talon would be able to find his identity through it. “Anything you want to say?”

From experience, Talon remains silent. He cannot betray the Court. The inner voice, however, started yelling: _Help us, and Jason, my Little Wing!_

Red Robin shrugs his good shoulder. “Seems useless right now. We need  more time to awaken him. But I think during this time, the Court will send new Talons. You need to be careful, B.”

“I know.” Batman nods, and then summons a tall and thin elderly man.

The newcomer possesses a noble bearing, yet the at the same time an air of humility. He doesn’t need his inner voice to tell him that this man is a butler. He’s seen butlers before in the homes of targets he’s previously eliminated. A good one can maintain their admirable loyalty to the end. A bad one is like a leaky faucet.

The old butler nods, and then lifts Talon with ease; he maintains his fluid manner of walking, forcing Talon to reevaluate his prior assessment. They arrives at a secluded metal door. Talon wonders what might be behind, and how he might resolve what’s to come - torture machines, perhaps? Or a sealed room with neither light nor sound. Or perhaps hungry beasts waiting for dinner.

But what awaits him is not like what he has imagined; it’s a bedroom. The ceiling is higher than normal, with gentle light undulating from somewhere above. The walls and the floors are soft, with no chance of hurting himself. A bed and a small white table have been bolted to the floor. A second metal door leads from the room.

_Wow, Batman sure is generous! Look look! There’s even a washroom with a door! But I bet there are security cams everywhere._

The butler places Talon gently onto the bed. He strips him of his dirty armour, inspecting his wounds in the process; at the same time, he checks Talon for any additional hidden tools. By the end, even the blades hidden beneath his skin and the chip planted into the back of his neck have been dug out.

Talon watches, helpless, as his last hope is taken from him. The effects of the muscle relaxant is just starting to wear off. He can’t let himself be manipulated like this - this is more humiliating than death. He starts to squirm; though his movements are minimal, they are enough to interrupt the butler stitching his wounds.

_Don’t panic. They are just taking precautions. I think you lose control more easily than you let on - perhaps you might hurt someone else, or yourself._

“Oh dear, don’t move, you’ll feel more pain.” The butler easily subdues him, injecting him with a tranquilizer.

The drug takes effect rapidly, blurring his vision. Before he blacks out, he thinks:

_Talons don’t have pain._

He doesn’t know how long time passes; when he reawakens, his wounds have all been cleansed, stitched, and bandaged. Even his clothes have been changed for a comfortable cotton set. He stares at his naked hands, intrigued. He has some hair on his arms, and he can see the vessels bulging under his skin like the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. His fingers are strong, able to easily strangle an adult male. His fingernails are a healthy pink, and have even grew a little.

Talon does not expect to find anything useful in the room, but out of habit he inspects every corner. His efforts aren't entirely fruitless - he finds several cameras embedded into the walls.

He leaves them alone; taking them apart will only make Batman more wary. He needs them to let down their guard, make a fatal mistake, and he will be able to escape and finish his target.

Weapons though… if he waits longer, he can pull off his fingernails for that.

_Do you smell that? Look, there’s food on your table!_

Talon tilts his head towards the tiny table. A white plastic plate contains a freshly cooked steak, some artfully arranged broccoli and a small pile of shelled corn. He tests the plastic fork. Useless. He loses interest and turns away.

_Smells good! Still warm too! They sure timed it well._

Rigidly, Talon sits at the table and studies the palatable-looking food. He picks up the fork again, prodding it against the table. The fork bends, soft and useless like an earthworm. He frowns, irritated.

_Oh God, stop caring about that fork, look at the food! We haven’t eaten real food in how long? All that nourishment fluid and liquid food urgh..._

Finally he listens, turning his gaze back to the food. He starts thinking of all the ways he could use the plate.

_Try it! They wouldn’t drug it - they would have done that without resorting to this. Look at the colour of the steak! This reminds me of the one at the French Restaurant we went with Jason, remember?_

He remembers. Everything. Brainwashing does not mean amnesia. The memories still sit there, but the emotions associated with them have been forcibly extracted. The Court have turned them into a film reel, and he an impatient and nitpicky audience.

_Jason’s really smart. How old was he then? Ten? So young yet his mind is full of strange ideas - ways to get out of trouble and more. Only thing is that his temper was quite something… making people think that he only knows how to pick fights. I still remember how he stole the wallet from that lady cook at the restaurant._

_He didn’t take the money, instead dragging us to the restaurant she worked at and pretending to simply have found the wallet. Then he said a bunch of crap about having not eaten for two days, kicking us to do the same. She gave in and shared with us leftovers from the tables._

_The yummy cakes, steaks, bread… and onion cream soup!.... Those people were so wasteful, but without them we wouldn’t have gotten it instead._

_We liked the cakes and the chocolate, while Jason always preferred the meat. He always chides us for liking stuff that were useless, saying how bread and meat were better against hunger. He’d then stuff them down our throats._

_But sweetness makes people happy, mom had said._

_Jason was much more observant than he lets on; he found the business card deep in the wallet. I thought he would only care about the cash. Oh, and he told us to keep it a secret so as to not alert the others, leaving us with nothing. Sometimes he’d steal roses from people’s gardens to give to that cook._

_If Jason wanted to, he could be really good at pleasing others. I think he genuinely liked that fat lady cook. She was such a kind person, more kind than his own mother. She’d gift us her son’s old clothing, or some gently used classic books. I didn’t like reading them, but Jason did._

_After that we’d risk walking through several blocks to eat there, to visit that kind lady…. until she was stabbed to death by muggers. It was such a shame. I really liked her. I wish I were there: maybe things would have been different._

While the inner voice babbles, Talon picks up the fork and starts to eat. As usual, he can’t taste anything. The broccoli feels like plastic, the steak rotten wood. Worst is the corn salad, the grains tasting like silica beads. But none of this affects Talon’s appetite.

Eating is for survival. Other than missions, everything else takes a backseat when it comes to survival.

But the voice continues.

_Mmm… they are so good! It’s been so long since I’ve eaten anything good! Too bad they gave us so little - I can eat a whole cow!_

What do they taste like? Talon wants to ask, but keeps silent.

_I wish Jason were here. He’d want to try the food. Maybe he’ll even be picky. Wait! Let’s guess who’s gonna be cleaning up this botched mission, shall we? Our chip has been destroyed - the Court will know everything soon. What will the Prosecutor do?_

According to protocol, the Court will send another Talon to follow up, and to eliminate the failed Talon. But if the Court’s best assassin has already failed, who will they send?

_Jason, definitely._

Talon hears the voice laugh. A sliver of cruelty crawls into the innocent facade, a predator's claws showing under the soft fur.

_If not Jason, we will keep killing off the Talons they send, until they wake him. Then we can beg Batman to save him, like he is saving us._

The voice falls silent for a moment, as if savouring the taste of food. Then it speaks again. _We haven’t seen him for so long. I miss him._

Talon does not speak, slowly finishing off the last scraps on his plate.


	4. Chapter 3

“My God, Jason. As a native Gothamite, shouldn’t you be running?”

Jason rolls his eyes, impatient. He pries the wheel harder with his crowbar. The Batmobile is exactly like described, its wheels extremely difficult to take off.

“Fuck…. if you have the time to tatter, why don’t you come over here and help?”

Dick shakes his hands. “I’ll just keep watch. Unlike you, I don’t dare touch anything belonging to Batman.”

Jason snorts, and continues to pry. Even though he’s had plenty of experience with this, he’s having trouble with this car; it’s as difficult as its master.

Holding on to his old bike, Dick glances at their surroundings, disinterested. Seeing no motion, he opens his mouth again. Since becoming acquainted with Jason, he has not stopped talking, making Jason think he’d been fooled by his demure appearance. At least Dick is proficient and skillful, and so Jason puts up with it. 

“I know you probably want me to shut up, but I must say, are you sure you want to touch Batman’s car? He’s a hero of justice, I don’t think we should…”

Before he finishes, Jason throws the crowbar onto the ground. It clanks, the sharp sound making Dick jump. 

“Fuck. What does his being a hero of justice have to do with us? I didn’t fuckin’ beg him to do that! Besides, look at this car and all his gadgets - he’s damned blue blood. What’s wrong with his donating to us poor people?”

“I don’t think he’d call this “donate”...”

“What the hell. I don’t care! If he dares to park a car like this here, then someone should teach him a lesson.”

Dick opens his mouth, and then closes it again. Jason lets out a breath of frustration. He doesn’t know when Dick would be able to become an A-list street rat - maybe a bit longer, maybe never. 

Dick is a child star from a circus - his difference is embedded within his bones. He’d never let himself appear unruly. He has his natural agility and flexibility, but refuses to ever steal, nor use his acting skills to swindle others. His talent with words is for bringing happiness, not for lying. 

The only things Dick would do are things like riding his broken-down bike for several blocks, at the risk of discovery by gangs, to deliver community newspapers. Or he would polish glasses at bars until after midnight. He’d then tell Jason he’d gotten a stable place to stay, and no longer needed to sneak into his house.

To lessen the number of times Jason terrorizes the streets, Dick would give him any spare pittances he had - he likes to hold Jason by the shoulders and calls him little brother, and Jason would push the clingy bastard away, pretending not to like it.

Besides the occasional pranks he likes to pull with Jason, Dick is a model child. Jason can only imagine how good his parents were to be able to raise a son like Dick. He feels sad for them, despite not having met them.

Good people shouldn’t end this way.

Finally a nail comes loose. Jason whistles in delight as he wipes the sweat from his forehead. In spite of his demeanor, he’s nervous.

What the hell. Who’s _ not _ afraid of Batman?

“Are you finished?” Dick glances at him, skittish. Disappointed at the single nail by Jason’s feet, he turns away again. “I thought you boasted that your skills are number one.”

“If you have time to look at me, why don’t you get on that bike!” Jason starts prying at the second nail. “Once I’ve done, we will ride it outta here. If I get caught, you run.”

“I won’t do that! How can I leave you by yourself?”

“Then you’ll want to get beaten up by Batman alongside me? Look at this baby, he’d be livid.”

“Jason, this joke isn’t very funny.”

Dick sits on the bike and does not budge, instead playing tricks with the petals as he lifts his arm from the handles, balancing himself. The little Flying Grayson has impressed all the kids under Jason with his skill - he just has way too many tricks of pleasing others. None of the kids makes fun of his name, instead admiring him for his skill in spite of his seemingly timid demeanour.

This saves Jason the trouble of beating people up - in spite of what he says, he cares about whether Dick is being respected.

Jason shrugs, his mouth quirking. “Relax. Batman wouldn’t be harsh with a twelve-year-old. At most he’d throw me to the cops. But you can’t come with me - you have to tell me mom to go bail me out.”

“You wish. I’m not gonna bother.”

“Oh, then you shouldn’t be with me from the beginning.” Jason snorts, mocking. “Staying with me only brings misfortune - it’s not like you are my real brother.”

“No, I must keep an eye on you!” Dick chooses to ignore the latter half of Jason’s sentence. “Just hurry up, or I’m gonna take all the money under your mattress!” 。

Jason strains a smile, and falls silent. He doesn’t want to tell Dick that the emergency funds they have under his mattress has already been stolen by his mom.

When her addiction manifests, she’d prowl around the tiny apartment, digging up anything worthwhile to exchange for drugs. Anything of value in the house has already entered the pockets of dealers. At last, her muddled eyes turned to Jason’s door. When Jason came home, happily holding the bread he’d gotten from the French restaurant, all he saw was the mess and his giggling mother sprawled on the floor.

He thought he’d go crazy, bringing out a knife to stab the monster that had possessed his mother. But all he did was to help the withered woman back onto her bed while counting his blessings that Dick had moved out only a month before. He could unleash his anger on anyone, but not his mother. She, who knows not how to do anything, managed to raise him in the slums of Gotham - Jason has no right to blame her.

But the money was saved from Jason exhausting all his resources, having suffered countless trials and beatings. They should have been used for medicine and for buying Dick a new bike.

Every time Jason sees Dick on that old bike his heart would skip a beat. The drivers of Gotham love to to force their ways through the busy streets, running over anything that gets in the way. Jason fears the day that he might have to identify Dick at a morgue - maybe not even that chance for he and Dick has no legal connections. 

He has nothing now. And Batman’s car happens to be parked at the alley where Jason passes by every day. It is a gift from God - it was where Jason met Dick.

_ If I were to sell this wheel to the strange fans of Batman, then I’ll get back all my money! And Dick would have a new bike. _

This is why Jason is willing to risk it.

“Dickiebird,” Jason says, his hands deftly working. “Why do you always look so happy? I mean… with all that happened to you, no one should … well... But you…”

Even when facing Dick, Jason can’t say everything. He never wants to rely on Dick for any comfort. He worries about becoming a burden. Despite Dick’s demeanour, he’s not any less troubled than he. He just keeps it bottled up.

But Dick is more attuned than Jason gives him credit for. He stops playing with his bike, turning to Jason, his voice still light: “What? Is Little Wing as unhappy as me?”

“No”  _ I’m only happy when I’m with you. _

“Something wrong?”

Jason changes the subject. “Dick, what are your parents like?”

“They…” Dick lowers his head, thinking. It is only when Jason thought he wouldn’t answer that he speaks again. “My dad is a really gentle guy… my mom has quite the temper. If I don’t train well, my mom would spank me. She’s pretty short, and yet she could chase me all over the circus. At this time my dad would step up and cut her off - I’d take the chance to sneak out and play. Once she calms down, I’d sneak back. And we’d have dinner on the small table…”

“You… miss them?”

“Of course… every single moment.”

They fall silent, Dick reminiscing his family, Jason suppressing the tingle of jealousy.

Since Jason could remember, he’d had no love from his father. The man would drink himself into stupors, rarely coming home or even speaking to his family. Then the cops took him away, right in front of Jason. And at that moment, instead of comforting her frightened child, his mother had collapsed onto the bed weeping.

His mother…. she used to be really protective of her child, but she wasn’t strong enough. Before, she’d hide in the corner silently wiping her tears. Now, she’d lose control right in front of her son, blaming everyone in the world including him. At first Jason would be frightened of the sudden outbursts, but would then begin to understand that it might not be all his fault. 

More often, Jason would think. Maybe he shouldn’t have come to this world? His existence is a burden to others.

He hides a sigh, and wipes his sweat, leaving a streak of motor oil across his forehead. “Everyone says God is fair, but then why would He give different backgrounds to different people? I don’t believe in God.”

Dick can guess what Jason is referring to, but doesn’t know how to comfort him. They come from very different families. 

“I think… every parent… no matter how they act sometimes, they are doing the best for you.”

“No…”Jason takes down the last nail. “Not all parents are good people. They make mistakes, bad decisions… hurt themselves… Should I thank God that they didn’t hurt me?”

“Jason…”

Dick wants to hug his surrogate brother, but Jason stands on his own. With difficulty he hefts the wheel, managing a smile.

“Let’s go. With this, we can have a few good meals.”

* * *

Deep within the heart of the alley where not even the streetlights can reach, Batman picks up a bent crowbar. He runs a hand down the metal, his glove becoming stained with blood. Robin stands beside him, watching the dark liquid seeping out the crack beneath the door with a severe look.

Batman gestures. Robin slips beside the door, and then kicks it open. A stiff arm springs out. This is the supposed hideout of a group of drug dealers. The pungent smell of iron and rust assail the duo. Robin is more familiar with this smell than anyone else. 

The room is pitch black, the bulb taken out by a bullet. Batman throws a flare into the room, the cold blue flames flashing, lighting up the room. Six people lay dead on the ground, their faces frozen in a scowl of fear, their eyes vacant. Their bodies are riddled with bullet holes, so old are the wounds that blood has stopped flowing. Ecstasy pills peppered the ground. The safe is open, the cash and the heroin gone. The entire scene appears to be the work of a rival gang. 

“Another territory dispute, perhaps?” Robin kicks away a body’s hand to get to the gun. He picks it up and smells the barrel. No signature smoky scent of discharge.

Batman is silent. If this was indeed the case, then civilians as well as gang members will die. But he has not heard or sensed anything about an impending conflict. This raid is too sudden.

Robin searches all the guns in the room, and then turns to his father. “Whoever they are, they are skilled. The brutes were killed without even having had the chance to open fire. From the casings, the ammo is .22 LR. Not pistols. Submachine, likely.”

“Take the casings. We’re leaving.” Batman turns without affirming Robin’s presumptions. The case is more complicated than the Boy Wonder has made it to be. 

Not far from them, Jason leans against the wall. He throws his two Uzi SMGs into the trash. Lifting his head, he sees the shadows of the duo flitting past him. Smirking, he follows.

 


	5. Chapter 4

Damian peruses the security cameras, worried.

Since this Talon has been secured in the room, he’s been acting resigned, comfortably enjoying everything Alfred provides. Calm and collected, he does nothing other than sleeping and eating, and leaning against the wall with his legs crossed and eyes closed. He neither speaks nor tries to escape, nor does he attempts to sabotage the security cameras in the room.

He has lost all interest in anything after the first day, when he had tried to find a suitable weapon.

Now he treats himself as an inanimate object, a part of the prison. 

This isn’t what Damian wanted. He hoped to see fluctuations in the Talon’s emotions upon being thrust into a foreign environment. Then he’d be able to take advantage of the exposed weakness; emotions usually get most easily manipulated when forced into a corner. But he has underestimated the training provided to the Talons by the Court of Owls. They are no less capable than the League of Assassins. 

So Damian decides to loosen their control of the Talon. He tells Alfred to start providing him with ceramic plates and metal forks. 

It’s not just that he trusts Alfred’s abilities. He plans to also hide behind the door, ready for action in case the Talon escapes. But he shall not let his father nor older brother know about this; they will scold him for putting himself in danger. 

_ For a better result, I’ll require more desperate measures.  _ Damian tightens his hold on his favourite sword. 

That night, a different response is finally elicited from the Talon. With faint interest he studies the sharp fork in his hands, and then turns towards the door, as if able to see Damian’s stubborn shadow behind it. Talon feels as if he’s playing hide-and-seek with a child.

Finishing the excellent dinner, he places the fork back and waits for the butler to take it away. He returns to his wall and sits. Instead of closing his eyes like usual, he stares at Alfred, his gaze reminiscent of a predator in the dark. 

From Damian’s understanding of this Talon, he would snatch the fork away as soon as Alfred lowers his guard, and puts the blade to the butler’s throat. Using Alfred as a hostage, he would threaten them to let him go.

Nothing happens. 

As soon as the heavy metal door closes, Talon once again closes his eyes. The butler glances at the hiding Damian before leaving. The boy, agitated, feels as if he’d been tricked. 

“Drake, I don’t need you to make fun of me. I’m just… nothing has even started yet.” Damian huddles in the armchair too big for his body and glares at his one-armed brother. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Tim raises an eyebrow and puts the tray beside Damian’s hand. 

Taking the service for granted and grabbing a handful of the tiny biscuits, Damian mumbles: “Your coming here means you are making fun of me.”

“I never thought of it this way. Me, you, and Bruce are all in this together.”

Damian lets out a mixed noise. “Where’s father? He wanted to keep this Talon, yet he rarely shows up.”

“How come I remember the fact that he is  _ your  _ responsibility now?” Tim leans to look at the screen. The Talon doesn’t move. If it weren’t for the timer in the upper left corner, he’d think it a statue. “And, Bruce went to investigate - for example this Talon’s background… and the Court of Owls. Rather than playing doctor, I think Batman is better at detective work.”

“This Talon is… stubborn. I don’t think knowing his background would affect him at all.”

Tim ponders for a moment, and then makes a suggestion: “Too many comforts will only make him think this a trap. What he lost was self-autonomy, not intelligence.”

“Are you making fun of  _ my _ intelligence?”

“Relax. Don’t act like I guessed right.” Tim turns, and leaves Damian alone with his thoughts. 

The next day, Talon has a new friend.

Alfred has moved a television into the room and opened the switch, in case the Talon has no desire to. He leaves behind no remote. 

Talon opens his eyes, apathetic as he studies the colourful screen. A new test. On the other end, Damian is busy changing channels, trying to elicit any kind of change by showing different shows and commercials. 

A new game has begun; let’s see who loses first this time. 

Sappy soap operas, crude talk shows, calming classical music, provocative rock-and-roll… Talon is unmoved by the assault of colour and sound. He even closes his eyes. Damian punches the keyboard in frustration, blaming Drake for yet another bad idea. 

But what he doesn’t know is that the voice has been talking within Talon for hours, noisy as a chorus of frogs in a pond. 

_ Thank God! Just what I wanted. The service here is the best! I haven’t seen TV for a long time. The shows nowadays, man…. wait wait! Don’t change the channel! I still want to watch. Oh, this band just released a new album? I’ve not seen them for six years. Hm I don’t want to see skeletal models doing the catwalk, change it now…. _

Annoyed by the inner tirade, Talon closes his eyes. 

_ Don’t close your eyes! Let me watch…. _

An undulating melody starts, accompanied by a smooth female voice husky with honey. “Morse’s Nicotine Candy, great for relieving you of your desires without the harmful side effects of cigarettes. Stay healthy.”

Talon opens his eyes.

A commercial is playing on the TV, the quality a notch lower than the rest of the programming; clearly it has some history. Talon is familiar with the commercial; he was once a loyal customer.

Time seems to rewind to ten years ago. Richard Grayson polished the wine glass as he listened to this commercial on that obsolete TV model. The light was dim, flickering as bar patrons linger late into the night. A sizzling smell emanated from the back kitchen. He had no appetite however - he’s tired of the tiny bar’s onion rings and deep-fried peanuts. 

Jason pushed open the door and entered. He slumped at the counter. His hands shook, between his fingers a stub of cigarette picked off the streets. He told Dick he’d left his mother at home with enough money for cocaine. Desperate resignation shadowed his face. Jason lifted his head to look at Dick, tears welling up in his eyes. Instead of falling, they clung stubbornly to his lashes.

_ Aha, so you do remember. I thought you’d forgotten. _

To ensure their mobility, brainwashing does not alter memories nor intelligence, but rather reincarnate them into the Court’s loyal protectors and absolute assistants. The Court will guide them to a better future, they were told. As a Talon, he cannot be affected by memories nor be burdened by emotions or self-doubt.

_ You still have me though. And so you can still be saved. _

The TV no longer changes channels, instead looping the commercial and turning the reincarnated assassin back into that helpless child. This makes the Talon irritated; he could imagine that colourful Robin exploiting this weakness. The voice in his mind doesn’t help, once again recounting his past.

_ That candy was expensive. We tried hiding that for the longest time from Jason - but I think he figured it out at the end. He’s always been sensitive to market values. But at least having had that candy, his reliance on cigarettes lessened. He was thirteen - still growing. We can’t let his lungs be blackened by smoke. _

Even without the voice reminding him, Talon can recall how small Jason was back then. Jason. Number 139. He suffered unimaginable hardships from birth, a boy carrying the responsibilities of a man. But he’s free from that life now. He’s been reborn for a better purpose - as a Talon.

_ No. Being a Talon is not better. The Court has been fooling everyone, making us believe that to give our lives for them is for the greater good - that it is worth it. _

What kind of life did 139 have before becoming a Talon? Engrossed in that kind of terrible environment, his father became a criminal, his mother an addict. All his friends were just as disillusioned, ill-educated, and unable to amount to anything in life. His only outcome would have been to follow in his father’s footsteps to prison, or become like his mother. Or perhaps worse than both combined...

_ Enough! Jason is stronger than anyone! I believe he has the capability of becoming a good person. _

You mean you wanted him to be a good person. You wanted to take the place of 139’s family, to become his closest confidante. You used your leverage to guide him towards what you believe is the better path. You spent all that effort forcing him to quit smoking, to avoid drugs, to support himself - even to abandon his mother. It’s your expectations that burdened him.

_ I had to take him away from that life. He deserved more. I can turn him better! _

You are not a saviour.

_ No! I did it because I must! Otherwise Jason would be just another child left for dead in the streets! All we wanted was to live… what could possibly be better than that? I don’t want to see those I care for die… I don’t want to be left behind again… I don’t want to be the only one left! _

Everyone will die eventually, lying by themselves in a casket.

The voice does not answer.

His control snaps. Talon rushes forward and smashes the TV set. His careful mask finally splits open, revealing a sliver of despair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translator's note: hiatus next week due to exams. More frequent updates will resume after Mar.6. Thanks for all your support.


	6. Chapter 5

“Please… no…”

A child of around ten wiggles in Jason’s grasp; he’s been lifted off of the ground by the collar, his emaciated legs wiggling in vain. 

Unmoved, Jason says: “If I catch you with any of those druggies again….” His voice is raspy, disguised by the presence of the mask. As he makes his threat, he gestures the gun at his neck. 

The kid bursts out in tears, emphatically nodding as tears and snot mixed on his face. “I won’t ever do it again…” he promises, his heart about to burst out of his chest. This killer is a demon from hell, murdering everyone in cold blood. 

Jason drops the kid. Stepping across the blood-strewn floor, he’s about to leave when a gust of wind catches his attention. He snickers, tensing up. The kid behind him backs off a few steps, terrified he might have changed his mind. 

Jason has been looking forward to the guest outside. 

Batman hears the muffled voices as soon as he lands. Behind his cowl, his eyebrows furrow, annoyed that he is once again late. This is  _ his _ city. 

“Too late?” Robin lands heavily beside his father, glaring over at the shadowy staircase. 

He cares not for the lives of those criminals. But it’s too quiet - too dark. Not a good sign. 

The wind moans past their ears. Everything is immersed in darkness since the destruction of the fluorescent light above the door. But a warm glow emanates from the crack of the door in a yellow line, a steel trap glittering beneath a disguise of leaves. 

“I’m hacking into the surveillance of the basement, hold on.” Red Robin awkwardly manages his keyboard with his good hand. Within the screen by his other hand, that Talon is staring at his new television, transfixed.

The door slams open, a shadow darting out from within. Robin draws his sword and is about to leap before stopped by Batman’s hand. Only then did he see that it’s only a frightened child. 

“Behind you! No one else is in there!” Red Robin warns, crackling the transmission. But it’s too late.

Batman is kicked back two metres into the garbage dump, eliciting a scream from the child, who stumbles to get away. Robin dodges the assassin’s dagger due to the advantage offered by his height, and slices his sword at the shadowy figure. The assassin blocks the blade with his gun. The barrel cracks in two, almost bring his index finger with it. 

Metal clinks as it hits the ground.

The assassin stumbles back two steps before steadying himself. He spins his dagger, knocking the two batarangs Batman has thrown at him. Sparks flash, and two more clinks of metal sounds.

The three pause, gauging each other for their levels of enmity. 

But Jason has no patience, frustrated as he is about learning Dick’s fate at the hands of the pointy-eared monster no matter the cost. Since his awakening, he could only remember his forced recruitment as a Talon along with Dick. Everything else is foggy and indiscernible. 

He must know where Dick is, dead or alive. 

“Listen, I don’t want to fight,” Jason lifts his arms. “I am different from other Talons. I don’t like fighting with cripples.”

A month earlier, Batman and Robin has been continuously persecuted by Talons - Batman having broken a rib during one of skirmishes, and Robin a tendon in his leg. Though the Court has also lost countless Talons, they don’t care - they’d be happy if Batman died from fatigue. Whatever price they had to pay would be worth it - it’s not like they treated Talons as people anyway.

Batman appraises the dark streaks across Jason’s face, the blood-soaked yellow jacket and the armour beneath. His voice rasps: “Since two weeks ago, you started to antagonize the gangs - making them kill off each other… on orders of the Court?”

This Talon looks more difficult to handle than Grayson - he’s more aware, and moves more dangerously.

“Ha, who says all Talons must obey the Court? I have my own plans.” Jason smirks. “At first I only wanted to know where your hideout is. Later I realized that you are smarter than presumed, and I always end up losing your tracks. That’s why…”

“That’s why you used this method to force us to confront you,” Robin interrupts. “What do you want, Talon.”

“Remember that first Talon sent to kill you? His skills is a notch above the others.” Jason emphasizes. “More importantly, he’s alive.”

Robin glances at his father, only sensing the tightening clench of his lower jaw. 

Jason takes in their expressions. His tumultuous heart flips as if thrown to a pot of boiling water. Hastily he steps forward: “You know him! Tell me where the fuck he is! Just a clue is enough.. I must find him…”

“Number 139, you’ve done well, containing the Batman. The Court will reward you.”  A voice, so low it’s inhuman, gurgles from behind Jason’s back. 

_ Fuck. _

Jason stiffens, and sees a giant flanking him on one side. He towers over him by more than two hand spans, and is encased in armour. Tubes extend from within his mouth and nose to his spine. He’s an uglier version of the Greek mythos coming to life.                                             

Jason remembers this monster. He’d been assigned to fight one once, and almost got pulled apart at the spine. They are the Court’s most proud accomplishments; machines of bulging muscles and genetic engineering, they have no sense of pain nor empathy.

As soon as the giant appears, Jason can sense a few more pairs of eyes staring from the darkness. They lingers, waiting for the giant’s command.

The giant looks down through his yellow night-vision lenses, seeing only a twisted figure with an owl mask. His voice is flat, like the broadcast of an airplane: “Number 139, your disobedience of the Court as well as your non-authorized contact with the target constitute a major violation of the Court’s codes. Considering your discovery of Batman, however, I will excuse your behaviour on account of the prosecutor. Now, you should help me eliminate the target…”

“Shut your trap.” Jason flips him the bird. “Fuck your orders. I work alone. These two toys are yours.”

As he finishes, the Court’s most disobedient Talon slinks into the darkness, sauntering up the fire escape and onto the roof. 

Truth be told, Jason wants nothing more than to kill all the stupid Talons, but he refrains. Should Batman not know where Dick is, he cannot yet turn his back completely on the Court. If they were to take Dick back, then everything goes back to the way they were. Plus, he can use this opportunity to see how good the Batman really is.

Comparatively, Jason worries more about Dick’s condition. He knows not how much sense of self Dickiebird still maintains - is Dick simply a breathing corpse that obeys everything the Court says? Jason has plenty of questions for himself as well: what has transpired after becoming a Talon? Why is he able to keep his sense of individuality?

He senses something he must do, but he cannot remember.

The giant, seeing that Number 139 no longer intends to interfere, turns to face his primary objective. He’s about to recite the Court’s judgement, but his face meets the bottom of Robin’s boots. But Robin underestimated the abilities of the giant, who grabs his thin ankles and flings him into a car. 

The windshield smashes in, startling the alarms. The shrieking noise pierces the night sky. 

Batman has no time to admonish Robin for his brashness. He swept forth from the side, landing solid punches on the most delicate of flesh beneath the giant’s arms. The giant swerves, just managing to afford the most brutal of hits. He reaches out and grabs one of Batman’s arms, squeezing tight. 

The giant’s grip is like a wrench, his own arm a rusty nail. As the giant reaches another hand towards the prey’s neck, Batman throws a sticky bomb into the enemy’s face. The force of the blast pushes the giant back, giving Batman the chance to break free. 

But not enough. The giant is far from losing his mobility. His helmet, however, has been completely shattered, exposing his face. It was a skull thinly wrapped in human skin and covered with decomposition spots, a sheen of green just beneath the surface and a pair of glowing electronic eyes in place of real ones. 

It’s a corpse that has been cheating death for who knows how long. 

Robin slides from the top of the car, working the kinks out of his neck. His bones crack as he moves. Jason raises an eyebrow, reevaluating his dismissal of the shortstack. Just as Robin attempts to return to Batman’s side, six Talons emerge from the darkness, surrounding him. 

Appraising the group of adults, Robin’s primly pursing lips curve upward. Spinning his sword, he prepares for battle. As a former member of the League of Assassins, he does not fear dealing out death. 

The Talons do not attack at once. Instead they surround  him, slowly contracting their circle. They’ve stumbled due to the child’s skills, and they will not repeat the same tactic. One of the Talons swerves and lunges with a laser. Robin flips backward, affording the attack but putting himself right into the path of a bullet. He flicks his wrist, springing his blade around and ricochets the bullets away. Using the momentum, he lifts a leg and kicks down one Talon, dodges a fist, and cuts off that offending arm. The Talon stumbles back, picking up his limb. Pressing it against his wound, his flesh quickly grows back together, with no hinderance to his mobility. 

Robin narrows his eyes. This is new. 

“Cute.” Jason almost feels like applauding. Robin’s techniques are precise yet deadly, and full of brutality. Quite the opposite of Batman’s strict, calculated movements. 

On the other hand, Batman is a lot more careful than his partner. He quickly realizes that not only is the giant fast, but also strong - he cannot afford being caught a second time. Avoiding one grapple, he spins his cape around. At the giant’s split-second confusion, he throws more batarangs and bombs toward his face. The giant only falters for a moment, and then recovers to his full speed. 

At this, Batman can only be even quicker. He poises like a leopard, leaping forward and launching a barrage of punches at the giant’s ribs. Unaffected, the enemy simply waves his arms, forcing Batman to jump back and go around. Nothing has worked well, and Batman starts to agitate. If this takes much longer, who knows how many more Talons will arrive; then there’s that weird one watching from the sidelines. No matter how he looks at it, this will not end well. 

They entangle in a few more rounds before Batman finally catches an opening. He leaps onto the giant’s shoulder, clenching him at the neck with his thighs. He slams his elbow into his eyes. Using his own weight as leverage, he flips the giant backwards, head down first. Lightly he lands beside the fallen, satisfied at the cracking sound of the spine breaking. 

To his chagrin, the giant uses his arms and flips to his feet. He twists his broken neck back into place. Staring impassively, he once again lunges for Batman. 

This is not a strength Batman has faced before. This giant is the equivalent of a killing machine. Batman, on the other hand, is only human. This repetition will only cripple him in a matter of time. 

Batman falters. The giant grabs him by the shoulders, fingers at his collarbone. The grip drains Batman of all ways of recovering his leverage. Soon his collarbone will be smashed to dust. 

“Try this.”

Two knives fly out of the shadows, plunging into the giant’s electronic eyes. He roars in fury, loosening his grasp and once again allowing Batman to escape. 

“Number 139, you dare to betray the Court?! Unforgivable!” 

Jason slinks out of the darkness, his voice coloured with mirth. “You can’t kill the old bat yet. I still need him.”

Blinded, the giant groped for Jason’s voice. Picking up Batman’s abandoned grappling hook, he shoots it up high and pulls himself up, planting his feet into the giant’s bloodied face. Before he could even recover from the attack, the giant hears the sound of a motor behind him. By the time he realizes, he cannot avoid Robin’s colourful motorcycle. 

Robin rocks his motorcycle back so that the front wheel is off the ground. As he flies it toward the giant, he leaps out of the seat, sending the spinning wheel right into the enemy. The metal canister on the giant’s back smashes against the ground as he fell; a greenish liquid leaks out, glowing faintly under the dim light. 

Jason does not give him a chance to stand. He wraps the cable tightly around the giant’s neck, and then uses his full strength to pull the two ends in opposite directions. But it was futile. He has not enough strength, and only manages to slice open the skin on the neck.

With Jason on his back, the giant stumbles to his feet as he roars, slamming his back against the wall. One hole after another appears on the walls, sending bricks and mortar flying. Jason hangs on tight, feeling as if his internal organs have shifted positions. He tastes blood. 

_ At this rate, this brute will kill me! _

“Use this!” In the nick of time, Batman throws him a new grapple gun. Robin spills a trap of nails to hinder the giant’s movement. As the giant falters due to the nail, Batman kicks him down. 

Jason aims at a particular direction in the ceiling. The hook embeds itself deep within a piece of metal lining. He presses the grapple gun and grabs his own cable. The hook brings both him and the giant up, but their weight is too much. It could only bring them up halfway. 

Expecting this, Jason straightens himself in midair and leaps past the flag pole just outside the walls. He hangs the cable around the top. The canister on the giant’s back has almost emptied, leaving him devoid of nourishment and much more docile. The lack of solid ground turns his own weight against him. He can only grapple uselessly as Jason abandons him to land successfully onto the ground, still holding on to the cable. 

The giant struggles, shaking the flag pole. The piano cable around his neck tightens as he moves, the thin line pressing slowly into his neck until finally, his head is cut from his neck. 

Satiated, Jason releases his grip. The headless corpse slams onto the floor with a great thud. The nutrient canisters on the giant’s back break open, the remaining green fluids slicking along the bricks and into the sewers. 

Batman examines the liquid oozing out of the steel canisters. He’d seen something similar before.

Jason shrugged his quivering arms as he stepped over the green puddle. He bounces the head like a soccer ball beneath his feet. Satisfied, he turns to Batman: “Remember to burn the bodies. Otherwise you’ll see this fuckin’ thing in two days.” He snickers, as if he’d told a good joke.

Robin forces himself to look away from his ruined motorcycle and towards him, confused. “You betrayed the Court, for us.”

“No, for Dick.” Jason mutters in a voice almost too low, before raising it again. “Do you fuckin’ believe me now? Tell me where he is.”

Batman hesitates. He cannot bring himself to trust that a Talon would offer to help them for this reason. The Court’s Talons are many things, among them extreme obedience and discipline; camaraderie, however, they are not. The appearance of this Number 139 forces Batman to reevaluate the complexity of the Court’s inner makeup.

He opens his mouth to reply, but Jason pounces at him. The sickening thud of something piercing bone and flesh explodes beside Batman’s ear.

Robin yells: “A sniper!” 

The bullet pierces Jason’s chest. Slowly, he slumps against Batman. 


	7. Chapter 6

The new television has been placed in the same corner. An episode of South Park is on, the flat cutout characters yammering at a speed too fast for normal speech. Different only in terms of clothing and voice, they swear with every sentence. Atrocious. But other programs love to refer to this cartoon, either praising it for its humour or attacking it for its poor taste.

Talon is still sitting against the wall, staring vacantly at the screen. He strains to focus on the voices, but is unable to understand what is so funny. Since their last argument, the voice in his head has vanished, unwilling to explain anything further to him. This leaves the Talon befuddled.

Destroying the television didn’t bring him any punishment. His little warden Damian immediately asked his butler to replace it, and started to repeatedly play that same commercial. Unfortunately he’s unable to elicit the same response. Talon sometimes would wonder if the colourful Robin would sigh in frustration in front of the screen.

The butler starts bringing him other little things. The first was the remote control. Taking about ten minutes to master its use, he started to focus on animated films. The second was a bouncing ball. Talon threw it back and forth against the wall, intrigued. And now, the butler brings him a set of newspapers every morning with breakfast. The Gotham Gazette. The rough and flimsy surfaces depict everything from political drama between countries to local tragedies such as murder. Talon scans every single word on the condensed rows of text, but finds himself unable to fully comprehend.

He’s been too detached from society for too long, and there’s no one to guide him.

This doesn’t mean he’s unsupervised. Batman and his Robins never personally visited him, not to mention any kind of interaction. Weird. Isn’t the purpose of capturing the enemy to interrogate for more information? Torture. Bribery. The usual methods. Yet they did none of that, and only observed.

Sharp silver forks. The fragile plates of porcelain. Newspapers. T.V. Fishbones in his food. If he’d wanted, they’d even give him a razor.

They do not fear what he could have orchestrated behind their backs, instead offering him a certain level of trust. Besides these material things, they seemed to be offering something else - something Talon has forgotten. What is it?

The question plagues him for a few days, until he spies the word on the newspaper - respect.

By the time he realizes this, the voice in his head has been gone for a week. In that instant, he realizes that he can start to taste food - a thrilling discovery. He discovers that he doesn’t really stomach salads well, but loves meat. He likes the combination of milk and oatmeal even more, however. But his favourite are the sweet biscuits, the texture of which simply heavenly.

He notices that the plates are white. If he accidentally stains the edges, he’d feel a strange sense of guilt, to the point which he would attempt to wipe it clean with his sleeves. But the butler gently asks him not to do so, for that would only burden the laundry machine. He acquiences, pulled in by whatever the old man requests of him.

Then Talon starts to observe the colours all around him. The padded walls of his prison is a downy yellow, the metal doors grey. The tiny table and bed are a cold silver, while the bedding and blanket are white. The blood vessels on his wrist are a bruising green. His eyes are blue, his hair black….

No one explains to him what these changes are; he could only explore them himself. But he prefers figuring out these new experiences as opposed to listening to that inner voice yammer. But without it, he feels empty. He cannot place a finger on what this feeling is.

Like now.

He wants to do something; he plays with the bouncy ball and watches the TV, and yet none of that uplifted his mood.

Tired of his current position, he pulls his legs together and hunched himself into a ball. He hides his face behind his knees. Through his bangs, he watches the TV, noticing that the channel has been changed.

The Prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne, is shaking hands with Lincoln March, the most popular contender for mayor. It won’t take much to kill these two full-grown men. Together, they are cutting the ribbon in front of a new school, the camera flashes shining white on the screen.

Talon remembers Bruce Wayne. He knows of him even before becoming Talon. Bruce Wayne has always been the heart of discussion, a sun that never sets. The Court has been meaning to get rid of him for a long time.

Thinking that such a brilliant man will turn into a corpse, Talon loses interest in the TV. For the first time since brainwashing, he feels regret.

Rolling his blue eyes, he glances up at the light on the ceiling. It reminds him of when he was a child, the circus would have lights just like this one hanging from the top of the tents. Holding his breath, Talon listens for the light whizzing of the fans.

For a moment he’d returned to back then, when he’d flip in midair with his family.

Mother would always pat his hair before the performance. Father would always reach out his arms towards him while in midair, saying: “No problem, robin-bird.”

While all this would be accompanied by thunderous cheering and applause, he’d only hear the wind past his ears, and his own thumping heart.

He was flying, his vision swirling in a whirlpool of light and crowds. He could see the extravagant clothing the patrons wore, even for the children. More interesting still were that they all had white masks which, from his distance, looked like the cold visages of snowy owls.

Yes, he’d also performed while at the Court, eliciting gasps of amazement from the crowds. But that time had been horrible, for he’d been bleeding under the onslaught of a female Talon. He’d fallen onto the floor, unable to discern where he was.

In contrast to the circus’ simple tent, the stage at the Court was a huge colosseum. Three tiers of stands full of men and women. They roared at the display on to the podium, their savage behaviour an irksome contrast with their expensive clothing. In that instance, he’d take them as annoying screeching owls. Maybe the Romans did the same thing thousands of years ago.

“Get up!”

He hears Jason, and looks up. Jason, and their teacher, were looking at him from their position just beyond the arena.

Jason’s face was swollen with bruises, blood trailing from the edge of his eyebrows and his nose. His left hand hung at a strange angle, his other arm bluish-green. The protective fencing covered the rest of his battered body. Their teacher, unmoved, watched as his students were pummeled. His expression was indiscernible behind the owl hood, but Talon guessed that he didn’t care.

Weaklings have no right to live.

Only Jason thought otherwise. His asymmetrical green eyes burned with some inextinguishable fire.

“Dick! Get up!!” He yelled at him, face red from fury. “Kill her! She’s different from us! She’s dead! She’s no longer Irene!”

This was their test before becoming Talons - they must kill a previous Talon to win the right to live - the right to live as a human.

Jason faced a corpse covered with green spots. And he encountered his ex-girlfriend Irene. They’d met at the bar, and kissed in his apartment - then she vanished, and reappeared in front of him. What a joke.

“Fuck. Stop dodging! You can cut off her head! Otherwise you’re gonna lose yours!”

He hears the wind again, and struggles to avoid Irene - no, Talon 21. He managed to stagger to his feet as he struggled to breath. The effort made his ribs ache. Irene’s healthy skin was gone, leaving behind only a skeletal face covered with grey vessels. Her pink lips had dried, her beautiful green eyes glass marbles embedded in the face of a doll.

Her eyes had the same colour as Jason’s.

“Kill her! She can be reanimated! This doesn’t count as murder!” Jason was still yelling at him, his voice cracking. “Please, Richard…”

Talon’s eyes snap open, awakened from this indiscernible dream. He knows not whether he woke because of the nightmare, or because of the metallic door swinging open.

Lifting his head, he sees the Batman that has been absent for three weeks. The vigilante’s entire body hunches beneath his cape, melting into the darkness outside. The white visors in his cowl glower, warning Talon to behave.

Talon staggers to his feet, all his muscles tense. All his strength is summoned as he prepares for battle, feeling a strange sense of nervousness paralyzing his senses. He’s been too lax; he’s almost forgotten how to kill.

Batman does not move despite taking in Talon’s enmity. When he speaks, he uses his human voice, and in a tone that demands obedience. “Follow me.” He turns without hesitation, leaving the exit to the room wide open.

This is a valuable opportunity. Talon can try and escape, or try to kill the Batman once again. Yet he did neither. He felt it may be unfair - for the Batman has not shown him harm in any way.

Perhaps something happened that requires his presence. Why not go check it out before killing him?

Talon lightly follows, trailing after the Batman into the depth of the cave. Not far from them, the Batman’s two Robins linger besides a bed. A heavily wounded man lay across it, his body poked full of wires and IV tubes.

Damian fares no better, despite a lack of external injuries. His back is slumped, perhaps nursing the pain from an injury sustained there. Red Robin’s one arm is still an useless appendage slung across his chest, making the Talon twitch. A bubble of guilt wells up within him - maybe he should have kicked him a bit lighter.  

The Robins do not notice their new audience.

“How in the world did you operate the batwing from the cave with one arm?” Damian demands, looking at Red Robin’s cast.

“It’s not like I’ve never done it before - pretend it’s a more realistic shooting game, except those Talons are much more capable than a computer program.” Red Robin replies evenly. With his good hand, he types on the holographic keyboard. “To be honest, you lingered there for too long - that’s the only reason why more Talons showed up.”

“They sent out a good one. We had to deal with him.”

“Very well,” Red Robin switches off the keyboard. “Don’t you think you should say something about how quickly I reacted to the situation?”

Damian chooses silence instead of retortion, a rare moment.

Red Robin smiles. “I’ll take that as a thank you. You are welcome.”

“Go away.”

Batman joins them. “How’s he doing?”

Red Robin glances at the Talon that stands about five metres behind Batman. Carefully, he says: “The bullet pierced his lungs, nearly grazing his heart. He’s healing really fast though - at this rate, he’d be good as new within a month. An effect of the Court’s body modifications, perhaps? Also, he’s not dead - he’s alive...”

Talon hears nothing else.

He finally sees the person on the bed. Flashing past the Batman, he stops at the edge of the bed. Everyone else pauses, staring at him. He does not care.

Jason is pale, a wax statue across the bed. Unlike the one in his dreams, this Jason has long since shed the last traces of childhood, exposing only the sharp edges of his cheekbones and prominent nose. The white hair on his forehead feels stiff and cold, his face slightly warm - soft, and smooth. Talon’s fingers brush against his closed eyes, and stops. The desire to see those green eyes swamps him.

He trails down to his chin, his fingertips light as a feather as he brushes against his neck. Jason’s chest has been bound with layers of bandages - he’s been well taken care of. His shoulder is swollen; perhaps a graze against something? Scratches marr his arms, the back of his hand pierced with an IV tube containing a liquid that not even Talon could recognize. His legs are straight, unbroken.

Talon notices the smudge of gunpowder on Jason’s hand, and rubs it away. Jason prefers cleanliness - he’d never mind others for being slovenly, but he do like to keep himself put together. This habit extended to his Talon self.

Feeling how cold Jason’s hands are, Talon wraps his own warm hands around them.

Only now does he realize that the room has been emptied, leaving him alone with Jason. Batman and his Robins have long since vanished, leaving behind only the sound of the beeping monitors.

He lowers his head, towards Jason’s chest. Finding his heart, he presses against it, carefully listening to the steady beat.

It’s slow, but it’s there.

 _I am alive,_ it says.

We are both alive.

A chuckle emanates throughout the room. Talon starts, surprised; it’s coming from within him, and it’s a sound he’s only heard in his head before.

Then he hears a sound coming from his own chest - a sound in addition to his beating heart. It was a sound of the river ice cracking at the coming of spring, the sound of a crack forcing the thick layers apart.

My Little Wing is alive.

Talon closes his eyes, content.

We are home.


	8. Chapter 7

Jason’s arrival disrupts the status quo.

Talon refuses to remain in the confinement room, unmoving as he holds vigil over the hospital bed. He does not interact with anyone, nor does he exhibits the usual aggression typical of Talons; apathetic towards Batman and the Robins, he only registers the existence of the one on the bed.

His behaviour surprises his wardens. From their experience with Talons, none of them had been able to exhibit this strong of a comradeship towards each other. The Court’s Talons are like ants, connected only by a hive mind that disregards all but the Court’s absolute orders.

Batman lets Talon overstep his boundaries. Truth be told, he has no time nor patience to examine this Talon’s inner thoughts; since bringing back Jason, he has finally infuriated the Court to the extent that they attempted to assassinate him while he was still Bruce Wayne. His friend, Lincoln March, was severely wounded in the process of trying to protect him. The man is still in the ICU at this very moment.

The incident shakes Gotham. Various media sources speculate about the orchestrators, while the police, despite help from Batman, is unable to make any progress in locating a suspect. Nevertheless, the underground players sense something amiss, and start to subdue their activities.

If the persecution beforehand were a measure of testing the waters, this incident is an open declaration of war - one to determine the future of Gotham.

Both sides have yet to show their last cards, their fingers impatiently tapping the surface of the table, the sounds reminiscent of the reaper’s footsteps. Who shall be the winner? Would it be the lucky Joker, or the elusive Jack?

Talon does not sense the heaviness that hang over the Batcave, stubborn as he is in guarding Jason. He does not appear often in front of Batman and his assistants, and instead tucks himself carefully into the mouth of the mechanical T-Rex, surveying the room from above. Perhaps he had forgotten most things, but protecting Jason had become an instinct.

Damian glances at the open-mouthed dinosaur, and lowers his voice. “The Court has discovered father’s identity… do you think it’s because of…”

Tim shakes his head as he changes Jason’s drips. “That first Talon… hm. We should call him Grayson. His locator has been dug out. As for that Jason Todd, he had none to begin with. He had a new scar on the back of his neck though - I suspect he did it himself. The fact that B’s identity got discovered would have to be attributed to the widespread influence of the Court, I’d think.”

“I still don’t believe whether the Court of Owls truly exists. Father once said they are only myth.”

“But reality states that they indeed exist, and with a long history to back them. Those living dead, and these two Talons - and the marks on their wisdom teeth: just how prominent of an organization would be able to support so many assassins?” Tim studies the screen of the cardiac monitor. “Look, if this Talon’s wounds had been on an average person, just being alive would’ve been a miracle…. But it’s only been seven days, and yet he’s nearly half-recovered. I think he’d be as good as new within one week. The important thing is that that Court would not have only raised one of these guys.”

Damian snorts. “You scared?”

“Yes, I am scared. More accurately, I’m worried.” Tim said, unabashed. His eyes flicker to Damian; there isn’t a shred of detectable fear. “We are facing an unimaginably large criminal organization. But Batman is just one person.”

“He has us. And Oracle and those women.”

“Does the Batman you know ever ask for help?” Tim sighs, turning from the hospital bed.

Damian follows grudgingly, eyes never leaving the mouth of the T-Rex.

As their figures about to vanish into the darkness, Talon hears Red Robin’s worry: “Batman has vanished for three days… I have a bad feeling…”

“Isn’t he always like this?"

“No. First time he’d disappeared so thoroughly.”

_Disappeared?_

Talon extends himself out of T-Rex’s mouth. Using the cable fixed onto the side, he slides down; his movements are light and elegant, no longer possessing a efficient yet mechanical quality. He senses the Robins watching, and lifts his blue eyes. “I… I know… you’re talking about this on purpose. In front of me,” he stammers.

Tim pauses, and then emerges from the shadows. “Do you have anything you want to say to us?”

Damian refuses to move, his copy of his father’s eyes burning with rage. “I thought you were mute,” he says. “A mentally-challenged one at that.”

“Damian…” Tim lightens his voice despite agreeing with Damian. He doesn’t want to anger the Talon, however, for they are still hoping to wring some useful information out of him.

Frivolity flickers within Talon’s dead eyes, but vanishes quickly. He approaches the bed and combs his fingers across Jason’s messy hair, his movements careful, as if touching a precious treasure. The loving yet possessive gesture makes Tim frown.

Damian smirks. “What’s your relationship with him? Pair of homos?”

“Damian!”

Talon struggles to understand what Damian meant, and then shrugs, a movement he picked up from the celebrities he’s seen on TV. He smiles. “Guardian Angel. Mine.”

“A guardian angel can signify rebirth, but also death.” Tim attempts to soften the situation, and moves slowly forward. He stops as soon as Talon’s face tenses, his hands clenching at his sides.

Tim raises both hands, hoping to signify that he means no harm. “Can I take your willingness to speak as a sign? A sign of truce?”

Stiffly, Talon nods. He speaks slowly, emphasizing each syllable. “Farther. Stand there. Help… yes. Trust, not enough.”

Damian erupts, charging forward like a missile. “I need information! Why did Batman disappear? What did the Court _do_?!”

As opposed to Tim, Talon shows no hostility towards Damian. He only moves to push Damian away when the child gets too close. He restrains his strength such that Damian only staggers. Perhaps this is because Damian is still a child, and this Talon has always been lenient towards children.

“Don’t touch me.” Talon tenses, and then adds: “Don’t touch him.” Having said that, he backs away, grabbing the cord. With ease he flips up, a cat slinking back into the mouth of the T-Rex. His eyes never leaves the two Robins, warning them against any sudden movements.

“But we need clues!” Damian yells. “You’ve hidden in the Batcave for so long; shouldn’t you give something in return?!”

“Maze.” Talon’s voice echos distantly from within the dinosaur's mouth.

“What?! What did you say?”

No matter what Damian says, Talon replies with only silence.

Damian strides back and forth, angry. Jason’s unconscious form catches his attention. The boy grabs a batarang, about to fling it in that direction out of spite. But Tim grabs his arm in the nick of time. Eyebrows furrowed, he shakes his head towards his brother.

After waiting a bit longer to make sure the two Robins are no longer in the cave, Talon slips back onto the ground. Lingering in front of the hospital bed, he weighs his options. Everything has happened too fast, and has progressed beyond his expectations.

Jason has appeared too soon in front of him, and yet he’s also heavily wounded. They cannot run away together. Batman’s disappearance is a bad sign as well. Mostly likely he’s been caught, perhaps hanged, or thrown into the river. But based on the Court rules, Batman is likely being tortured by that snowy maze.

The maze. Talon trembles. No one can escape that place. The endless trails. The blinding light. The photos that record only fear. And that source of fear - the statue of the owl...

“Mr. Grayson?” Alfred the butler approaches, causing Talon to hunch his entire body, wary. But the butler stops a few feet away so they are face-to-face.

“May I address you as Mr. Grayson?”

Talon stares at the least threatening inhabitant of this residence, and slowly nods. He respects this elderly man, and understands that his position in the house is beyond his job title.

“Mr. Grayson, I have a request.” Alfred passes a plate of sweet biscuits.

Talon studies the snacks, confused. “Why request? You, no need. To trade.” He tilts his head. “Food. I thank you.”

Alfred smiles through his British accent. “Those children are prideful, and do not wish to ask directly. But for me, an old useless butler, a request is not hard.”

“What… do you want?”

“I need to know where Master Bruce is.”

Talon catches the wording. Unlike the Robins, the butler has no qualms about speaking the Batman’s real name.

“I don’t know. Really.” Talon shakes his head, confused yet sincere. “If. He’s in the maze. Dead for sure.”

“I believe Master Bruce will not die that easily. You don’t know him - he’s stronger than anyone.”

“Court. Cannot defend against. Nothing they can’t do.”

“There’s nothing that cannot be overcome. All we need is a pair of helping hands.” The butler pushes the plate of biscuits to the side and presses a button on the table. A drawer pops open, exposing the Talon’s equipment, including his hook, dagger, and poisons. “Besides, if Batman were defeated, then you and your friend will be doomed as well, is that not the case?”

Talon appraises his belongings, wondering what kind of strength would allow a fragile butler to ask for help from a ruthless, unprincipled assassin. Despite his skepticism about the butler’s decisions, he puts on his uniform. Being armed makes him more at ease.

Before putting on his hood, he asks: “Why? You shouldn’t ask for help. From me. You shouldn’t…. We are enemies.” His voice falters as he looks at him, worried and unable to find the correct words to describe his thoughts.

Alfred seems to understand, and smiles. “Master Bruce means as much to me as this Mr. Todd does to you. We are all willing to take risks for those important to us, correct?”

He bows, his poise pristine and well-mannered. “The password for the exit is 423841. Keyword, Plato. I wish you a happy patrol, Mr. Talon.”


	9. Chapter 8

 

At wee hours of morning, downtown looms quiet as a cemetery but for a few suspicious souls lingering on the streets. They fritter about, quickly darting behind a metallic door for certain shady dealings. 

But the residential areas are vibrant, brilliant even without the light of the sun. The lights shoot up to the sky, parting the grey clouds. This reminds Talon of his times in the circus - the crowds conglomerated together with their cotton candy and popcorn, the steady beating of the drums, and the exhilarating cry of the trumpet at the hands of the circus master as he parts the curtains. 

Talon swings himself across the night sky, his face hidden by the hood. His movements are almost eel-like, swerving amongst the ocean of buildings. Occassionaly, the dancing lights would almost touch him. Out of instinct he’d jump away, yet at the same time he yearns to grab them. 

Seeing the rainbow lights staining his gloves, he could not resist lifting the corners of his stiff mouth. 

Light, the sustenance of the Flying Graysons.

_ Better if there were applause.  _

The voice finally speaks. And to his surprise, he says what Talon is thinking.

_ Applause suits us, as the night sky. Come; let’s go to Wayne Tower, the tallest building Gotham. Let’s see if our skills had eroded.  _

Talon acquiences despite the discomfort; he should be going down, sinking himself deep into the centuries-old sewage system to search for the maze. It is hidden behind the walls of the underground system; going up does not help. 

Batman is likely trapped there, stumbling amongst the white walls with no food and water, constantly assaulted by attacks from all around; at the same time the Court of Owls would be cheering, screeching their delight. 

The maze is not only used for punishing those deemed guilty by the Court, but also for examining their newest Talons. No matter how stubborn, no one will be able to stand against the tortures of the maze and will bend to the will of the Court. Talon knows first hand that feeling of helplessness and desperation; he doubts if Batman were still alive. 

His thoughts clarify as he rises in height, a bird newly hatched from its imprisonment of shells. It is like that voice said - the sky suits them.

That Dark Knight is perhaps the key to their escape from the Court. Alone, Batman casts fear over the Gotham nights, unsettling the centuries-old owls to the point of issuing his extermination. He must have some interesting secrets. 

I need Batman’s secret. I need safety for Jason and me.

For the first time, Talon is thinking for himself.

The top of the Wayne Tower is the highest point of Gotham and the pride of the entire Wayne family. From his position, streets are mere ribbons of light that wrap around Gotham like a Christmas present - full of surprise and exuberance. 

Similarly, the buzzing of traffic fades to white noise, and instead he can only hear the whooshing of wind. Coldness seeps through the edges of his armour, caressing his skin. The clouds float low, almost within touch.

A bit cold.

_ You like? _

……

_ Admit it! _

“You’ve not changed - always reaching for the heights,” a voice says from behind him, raising the hair on his neck. 

It’s his teacher’s voice; no wonder he sensed nothing. 

His teacher, the prosecutor.

The prosecutor of the Court is second only to the judge, and the leader of all the Talons. He needs not carry out any missions; instead, he’d stand by the judge’s side, adjust his blankets, push his wheelchair, announce his verdicts, maintain order - an assistant rather than an assassin. 

His teacher is not one to voice  his own opinions, but neither is he one relegated to silence. Other than the judge, no one knows much about him, or how strong he is. But given that he had created the Court’s two strongest Talons - Numbers 139 and 140, no one doubts his capabilities.

Or at least, during his time with his teacher, Talon has not seen any Owl arrogant enough to challenge this shadowy prosecutor.

Talon does not turn immediately. If his teacher wanted to kill him, he’d already be dead. He bade his time, hoping that his inner voice might give him a clue to the necessary social interaction.

His teacher does not mind his silence. Voice gentle with a touch of noble accent, he speaks through his snowy white mask. “My dear student, I knew you’d be alive. But I didn’t expect you to look so well. Batman is kinder than he looks.”

“……”

“Why do you not return? We all miss  you.”

“……”

“I was the one who sent Jason to find you. Took a lot of effort. As you know, since his resurrection, his whole person has become…” he pauses, grasping for the right word. “...Uncontrollable. The judge initially didn’t want to use him.”

“……”

“I also heard that Jason was wounded from saving Batman - heavily wounded. Have you seen him?”

“……”

“Are you just going to reply me with silence?”

Recognizing the prelude to anger, Talon takes off his hood. He bows. “Teacher.” He does not realize the reluctant tone in his voice.

His teacher senses this. His anger fades at Talon’s apparent awkwardness. He shifts his weight. “You’ve  changed, Dick,” he says, mocking.

Talon glances at him.

His teacher catches the subtle response, and his mockery fades. He takes a few steps forward. “Don’t worry. I am happy for your change,” he says kindly. “You are recovering, my child.”

“……”

“And I am guessing that Jason is by your side? Recovering in Batman’s lair?”

“……”

“Don’t be nervous; I’m glad you are alive. After all, you are my sole personal property within the Court - my sons, my students, my family.”

The earnestness in the prosecutor’s voice makes Talon hesitate. The word “family”, especially, shakes him. Originally standing taut, he shuffles his feet - a nervous habit from his days as Richard Grayson.

“I have my reasons for releasing Jason.”

“.....” Though Talon does not reply, his eyes betray his curiosity. 

“Think about how I’ve treated you in the past? You’ve never been brainwashed - until _ that _ happened to Jason, and you made the right choice.”

The prosecutor sees the omittance of brainwashing as a reward, unsettling the Talon. Objectively speaking, however, his teacher did do the best for them - teaching them everything he knows, preventing the Court from turning them into the living dead. No matter his original purpose, he did protect them, if only for a short while.

“You won’t understand what I’m saying now, for you have not yet awakened completely from the brainwashing. You do not yet have the required constitution I need.” He pauses. “Jason is an exception. He’s passed the test of the Lazarus pit, and so the Court could not alter his sense of self.”

“You. What do you want.”

Surprised, his teacher says: “I thought you’d forgotten how to speak.”

“I can. You don’t. Know everything.”

“Very well. You are probably curious as to why I am explaining myself to you.”

“……”

“You need to ask “why” for this conversation to continue.” His teacher tempts him, drawing him out. “You need to ask questions. Silence will not help you. Where is the sweetheart I used to know?”

Talon waits a few seconds, wanting to ask his voice for advice. The voice does not reply, however, for since he has started to interact with other people, it has taken to disappearing at the worst of times.

Should he trust his teacher? His teacher should have killed him, a traitor, but instead he is calmly talking with him. Does he have other goals? But without him, Jason should have died a few years ago. Saving Jason was never part of the prosecutor’s job, nor that of any of their teachers, for that matter. 

What does he want?

“Don’t space out, my child.” His teacher takes a few more steps forward and reaches for Talon’s shoulder. He exhibits no malice, and his voice is kind - that of a parent talking to their child. “Dear Richard Grayson, ask me why.”

His teacher’s hands are icy, absent of the warmness of a living body; they steady him, however, encouraging Talon to follow his thoughts.

“W-Why?”

His teacher nods, satisfied. “I need you to help me,” he continues slowly. “But just you isn’t enough. As a result, I would like both you and Jason to come see me. Jason will know what I need, and how my need will benefit you all. Believe me, when you’ve become Richard Grayson once again, you’ll realize the validity of my decision.”

“He’s wounded…. Not awake yet…” Talon says, dejected. “Badly wounded.”

_ My little wing… is he alright? Would the Batman’s Talons hurt him? _

The prosecutor snaps his fingers, bringing Talon’s thoughts back to the present. 

“I’ll give you this to inject into Jason.” The prosecutor pushes a syringe into Talon’s hands. The liquid within the needle glows green as it slowly trickles within its glass prison, a flicker of starlight in the darkness. 

Talon does not recognize the contents, but the syringe looks familiar; a long time ago, someone gave him something like this. 

The prosecutor says: “This is water from the Lazarus Pit. It will help Jason recover quickly, but will cause him some pain.”

“Pain?” Talon, startled, releases his grip; the syringe in his hands is now hot coal. He hesitates; something that causes Jason pain can’t be a good thing.

A second before impact, the prosecutor catches the syringe. He shakes his head in disapproval, stirring a sense of guilt within Talon.

“Dear Dick, don’t be afraid. The water of the Lazarus Pit will no longer eat away at Jason’s sanity - but for a slight side effect. You have to think of it this way, all medicine comes with side effects, and yet the benefits outweigh the costs. So, please don’t attribute Jason’s oddity to some nefarious plan of mine, okay?”

Talon strains to catch the tiniest hint on the prosecutor’s face, but comes up fruitless; the man’s face is a blank waxy mask. 

What other choice does he have? Other than Jason, this person is the only one he could trust. 


	10. Chapter 9

As usual, Gotham started snowing in earnest on Christmas Eve. Snowflakes fluttered in a symphony of elegance, only to attach to the passersby, following their footsteps across the city. Within the heat of the living rooms they’d melt, rising back up as steam into the skies of their origin, waiting for next Christmas.

The holidays, however, were much less interesting than the adventures of snowflakes, the same repeats year after year.

During the day, Christmas carols chorused in unison across all radios. The sides of the streets were draped with plastic green and red flowers, and rows of paper-cut elves hand-in-hand. On this day, the sun disappeared early, bringing about silence with its absence as the stores closed and the streets cleared. 

No crimes were committed, for it was as if all of Gotham decided on a truce for this particular day of the year.

Jason tugged close his worn jacket - the one that belonged to his father. As the snow picked up in earnest, his eyelashes blurred white, hindering his vision. Looking up at white flurry highlighted by the street lamps, he swore: “Dammit.”

He’d never hated snow before - though he’d always disliked it. The temperature always dropped drastically after the snow stopped. Dick and he needed heaters, and thick clothing; all were constant reminders that they needed money.

But today, the reason was slightly different. Snow obscured vision, hiding dangers in plain sight.

Almost there, Jason. Once you’ve arrived, you’ll get money; you’ll be able to buy medicine for mom. And Dick could get a new coat - the one given him by his little girlfriend is so damned ugly.

Jason encouraged himself as he tilted his head low and plodded on. Compared to a few years ago, he’d shot up in height. No longer the scrawny street rat, he was almost as tall as Dick. Despite looking withered from malnourishment, no one dared pick a fight with him. His skills with the knife had not eroded.

Unknowingly, Jason passed a clothing store for men. Compared to the rest of the stores downtown, its merchandise is reserved for the elite; on this day, however, it did not escape the cliches of Christmas decorations. The mannequins with their woolen Christmas sweaters made a laughing contrast to the clothing within. 

Jason had once joked to Dick about the storeowner’s tastes, but he had to admit that there’s something special about the clothing sold here. He  _ had  _ saved just enough money to buy a coat to replace Dick’s stupid Bohemian jacket. 

But the keyword was “had”. 

He sighed, and sped up. His mind was in a daze, unseeing as he bumped into various people that swore at him. He didn’t bother retorting; he’s got more important things to do. 

A block from his destination, a tingle of unease crawled up his back. This familiar feeling had helped him avoid many disasters in the past. In response, he slowed, trying to look natural. His green eyes darkened to brown as they shifted, alert. 

Across the street lurked a man in a thick coat, his face half hidden by a black scarf. Hands in his pockets, he stared at Jason, his eyes venomous. 

An assassin from the black market. 

Jason widened his pace, calmly slinking deeper into the alleyways as he tried to lose this troublesome tail. His mind, however, was on fire. 

Fuck. What bad luck to encounter this on his first trip..

He recalled the contact’s shifty behaviour. The package he’d given him must have been obtained through illegal means, and poor naive Jason is about to get between the clash between two rival gangs. The guy must have been sent to rough up the messenger, giving a reason for both gangs to finally erupt in turf wars. 

_ I’m not a fuckin punching bag! _

Clenching his jaws, Jason darts into the shadows, hiding himself behind a garbage dumpster. Rigid, he withdraws the gun hidden in his coat - he’d picked it up in the aftermath of a gang battle; it’s almost new, and came with a full cartridge.

A shadow flitted at the entrance. With steps too lively for a killer, the person approached, their soft soles unable to give away his exact position. As their distance closed, Jason heard the scuffing of shoes, each step crashing hard on Jason’s hearbeat. 

At last, the person stopped.

“Jason, you there? I saw you come in.” It was Dick.

Jason let out a breath, and quickly hid the gun - he’d get a scolding if Dick saw. Then he decided to punch Dick, only to realize that his muscles were entirely stiff. As a result, he crashed onto the ground. 

Dick yelped, and rushed to help him up. “Are you hiding from me on purpose, Little Wing?” He bit back a laugh as he dusted the dirty snow off of Jason’s clothes. 

“Fuck you.” Jason struggled to keep calm, letting Dick do as he wanted. “I thought I was being tailed. I was about to teach him a lesson.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t be mad.” Dick was still wearing that awful jacket, his handsome face graced with a silly yet adorable smile. “Today’s Christmas. What are you doing outside? I’ve been waiting for a while at the bar, Little Wing.”

“Really?” Jason felt a twinge of guilt. He wondered what Dick would say if he knew what he had in his coat. 

“I went to your place, but no one opened the door. But I heard Mrs. Todd coughing.” Dick kept his tone light, but worry emanated from his eyes. “Jason, is she alright? Is she too sick to open the door?”

Dick, my mom is gonna die! What do I do?!

Jason could not suppress his eyes brimming with tears. He hated this side of himself. Every time Dick comforted him, even if it were as natural to Dick as patting a dog, Jason would lose control. He’d only feel the need to rely on someone else when it was Dick. 

But he can’t let Dick get involved. He’ll only ruin him. Dick had just taken over that small bar, and was slowly making ends meet. He couldn’t afford any trouble. 

It’s his own problem that his mother was so ill. The fact that the medications were two hundred dollars per bottle was also his own problem. The decision to become a smuggler was also his own to deal.

“She’s fine. You know her. All she needs is to get high.” Jason snorted as usual. “Go back first. I’ll come by later.

The assassin may appear any second. He needed to get Dick out of here.

Yet the normally easy-going Dick did not relent. He frowned, taking in the sweat collecting on Jason’s forehead. “Jason, what’s happening?” As Jason averted his gaze, his temper flared. “Look me in the eyes, Jason!” 

Stubbornly, Jason looked away, clenching the package in his grasp. 

The movement caught Dick’s eye. He calmed, a waver in his otherwise steady voice. “What is this, Jason? When did you start to do this?

The package was too big to be innocent. 

“Fuck off!” Jason exploded. “I need money, Dick! I need a lot of money this instant! Or else my mom is going to die! I can only watch as her face turns green until finally she’s a frickin corpse!” 

“Even so, you can’t do this! You’ll die!” Dick’s voice hardened, causing Jason to back away. Seeing the despair in his eyes, Dick sighed, lowering his voice. “You could come find me. I can think of something. You still have me…”

A chill rushed up his back - he’s here! Fear clutched his throat, a feeling he’d never encountered before. The blood in his veins pumped, rushing towards his head with such speed that he started to hallucinate: for moment, he saw Dick in a puddle of blood.

“Go away!” 

Jason pushed him away and ran out of the alley, just brushing past his pursuer. The assassin did not spare a single glance towards Dick, and instead turned after his target. 

Jason pretended not to hear the the demand to stop, crashing as he tipped over garbage cans on purpose. He even pushed some passersby back towards his pursuer. But the sound of leather shoes steadily increased in volume. 

_ Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!! _

Panicking, he only saw the dead end when he was within it. The footsteps slowed, confident of the result.

A flicker of despair welled within him, followed by rage. He couldn’t die here. He needed to do something. 

He remembered the gun.

Footsteps approached, each beat in sync with his heart. The organ went into overdrive, pumping, pulsing.

He waited until they were almost one metre apart. He spun backward and pulled the trigger.

The crack split the Christmas night, and then faded into echos. In that instant, the alleyway lit up with the flash from the barrel.

Everything slowed in Jason’s eyes.

Dick’s eyes widened in disbelief, staring at Jason and his smoking gun, and then towards the wound in his abdomen. Hunched over, he staggered backwards, blood spreading across that jacket. 

“Jay…..”

He slumped backwards.

Jason rushed forward, wanting to catch Dick. He stumbled and found himself falling.

_ What is going on? _

Like a bomb released from a drone, his body dropped hard towards the ground. Dick’s bleeding body fell with him, his dimmed blue eyes unseeing.

Jason realized he was dreaming. What had happened was real, but the ending had been twisted.

_ Wake up! _

The moment before impact, Jason woke; darkness engulfed him, his body encased within a small box. He was on his back, but unable to turn. There was little air, and the stench of earth permeated the tiny space. The surroundings had been cushioned with a well-made material, as if lovingly cushioned.

A casket.

The knowledge suffocated him. He shrugged, screamed, but no one came to save him. He clawed at the lid until his nails were broken and bleeding, his fingers broken. At last, like a hatchling desperate for release, he dug himself out of the earth. His hands bloodied, yet he could only kneel on the ground, unable to move from the pain.

The air stank of sulphur, the sky a rippling blood red. In the distance towered a few scorched trees, dead bodies hanging from their withered branches like wind chimes swaying in the breeze. Red-eyed crows circled the remains as they croaked.

“Little Wing! Where are you? Jason!”

Dick scissored past the crumbling headstones, stumbling towards him. He cupped Jason’s face, a treasure regained. Dick’s presence calmed him, as if he’d arrived at calm inlet after a night of rough seas.

“Are you alright? My God… look at you… I thought you were…” Dick said.

Jason found himself taken in by the worry on Dick’s face. He used to constantly skirt on the edge of danger to make him worry - as if that was the only way for him to prove that Dick really cared for him.

“I’m alright now… now.” He murmured as he touched Dick’s back, leaning forward.

Dick looked down, studying Jason’s trusting face, and then smiled.

“What, you think this is real?” Dick smirked a grin full of malice. “This won’t do, Jason. It’s not the first time you’ve been here. Do you not remember the rules? Time to review!” 

The monster with Dick’s face pushed Jason to the ground, his sharp claws ripping open his chest. The previously solid ground gave away to darkness, sinking Jason even deeper into the fathomless bottom.

The nightmares did not stop.

His memories were constantly exploited to create intricate traps. Jason struggled to free himself, and yet he could not escape. He could only play along, falling into new scenarios each time with a different Dick.

Sometimes Dick would be full of life, too kind and perfect to be real. Other times he’d be naively cruel, a demon tantalizing him.

In the myriad of darkness, Jason felt as if he’d been treated like this before, but he sank himself into these nightmares, unable to remember. A corner of himself relished in seeing Dick every time, despite the bad endings that inevitably rise….

It was a descent to darkness, an addiction no different from that of his mother. But he could not prevent himself from drowning in this twisted memory. It was almost an instinct that seeing Dick brings him happiness. He’d feel ashamed, and hated Dick more and more each time - stop tempting me.

A new round has begun.

He opens his eyes to darkness.

This time he finds himself in a soft bed, a beeping sound by his side. Glancing around, he finds himself in a deep cave. A cold blue light from a screen undulates down on his head. His vision not yet recovered, he cannot make out the words.

“Little… Little Wing?” A voice said, hesitant

Jason turns his head. 

Dick shuffles in front of his bed. This time, the demon’s acting is crude. This Dick is a well-made plastic doll, his face an expressionless mask for a corpse. He studies Jason, hesitant.

“Motherfuckers!” Jason jumps up, one hand grabbing the demon by the fragile neck. “Stop using his face to trick me! I’m going to kill you all!” 

 


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translator's note: sorry for the erratic updates! Exam season is here. I'm not sure when the next update will be until after May 15, when I finish exams. Thank you for your patience.

Talon retaliates without thinking.

Before Jason had even straightened his arm, Talon fought back. Lightning fast, he grabbed Jason’s thumb and bent it backwards, his right hand lunging to dig into Jason’s left eye. Jason yowled, and flung Talon to the side. 

Talon crashes into the display case within the batcave, the weapons inside crashing into the ground. The thundering echoes trigger the alarm.

Compared with Talon, Jason looks worse. His fingers have been broken, his eye socket bloodied as his eye had been nearly dug out. Fortunately, the Lazarus pit’s healing qualities have yet to vanish. He whimpers, and forces his fingers back to their original position. His eyes glow green, gradually healing until only the blood on his face remained to prove the reality of what has just transpired.

Jason was confused; he’d easily pushed Dick away. The illusionary Dick could be killed, but difficult to shake off. He- no, it - was always able to recover immediately, unlike the way it’s sprawled out across the debris. At the same time, he could feel the heaviness of his body, the wavering but steady strength. His heartbeat quickens, blood gushing into his head as his breathing shallows.

The reality of these sensations does not absolve him of his suspicions. Since his resurrection, he’d been plagued by hallucinations - he cannot let down his guard. 

These thoughts slowed his reflexes. By the time he’d sensed it, it was too late. Robin’s sword just misses his head as he dodged, but the blade catches him by the ear and shoulder, which healed almost immediately.

Red Robin fires a taser, the rods attaching themselves to Jason’s chest. The electricity jolts him. A wounded bear, Jason yanks it off and plows towards Red Robin.

Robin uses the distraction to cut towards Jason’s waist. Jason dodges, spinning around to sweep Robin’s feet from beneath him. He grabs the child by the back of his neck and lifts him, rendering him helplessly shaking his legs.

“You can’t fool me, monster. No matter what you change into!” Jason smirks, grabbing Robin by the neck. 

As he struggled under the deadly grip, Robin notices the blaze of insanity burning in Jason’s eyes - he’d same the same kind of despair in his grandfather’s eyes countless times. That, and in addition to this Talon’s abnormal rate of healing, Robin came to the disturbing realization. 

“Lazarus pit….” he chokes out, trying to free himself from Jason’s grasp. He has the disadvantage in height, his back wounded. The same trick won’t work on Jason twice. 

“Yes yes yes!! I remember! The Lazarus pit! You all love to torment me! Why won’t you just let me die?!” 

“Let him go!” Red Robin slams his staff down on the back of Jason’s neck. But the force from one arm was too little to stop Jason, who does not even bother to look back. 

Before he could think of another way to stop Jason, a black shadow dashes past him. Talon grabs Jason by the neck, bringing him down towards the ground with his own weight. The three tumbled into a heap, struggling. Robin lands on all fours, coughing as he holds Jason down. Talon locks Jason’s neck and arms, flinching as he listens to Jason’s cries. 

Talon wants to stop Jason, but is unable to know how - he’s been trained to take lives, not to spare them. 

“Little … Little Wing, look at me…. I am…” Talon struggles to tell him he’s Richard Grayson, but those are words he himself wouldn’t even believe. He’d been a Talon for far too long. 

_ Tell him you are Dick. You are Dick. Hurry, don’t disappoint him again.  _

“I am… Dick.. the real Dicka…”

“Don’t ever think you’d fool me with the same trick! I don’t fall for it.” Jason cackles, but his movements slowed. He raises his head, studying Talon’s face - Dick’s hair is longer than usual, almost enough to cover half of his face. The dark skin of his Romani heritage has transformed to a sickly white. The laughter between his brows have vanished, leaving behind only blankness. 

Perhaps this is what Dick would really look like as a Talon? Jason questions. Or he is already dead. No, it’s me who’s dead. Wait. Dick is in the hands of the Bat? But this is better than the Court. The Bat is a virtuous person at least. Okay. It’s okay if I were dead. It’s okay if I just let myself sink into this. 

Jason’s intent gaze elated Talon.  _ Little Wing finally believes us.  _

Jason’s next words turn his heart to ice. “I give up. Do what you wish.” Jason stops all struggles as he reaches for Talon’s face, unable to control himself. His palm brushes against Dick’s skin and lashes, the sensation too real to be mere illusion.

Or if it were, it is the most realistic one yet. 

The lock on his throat shifts into an incomplete hug. It’s been so long since Talon had hugged anyway that loosening his grip is a novel sensation. He didn’t dare hug Jason too tightly, his arms instead hanging around Jason’s bruised shoulders.

_ Don’t give up on me. I won’t leave. You can’t make me. _

“Don’t give up on me. I won’t leave. You can’t make me,” said Talon Number 140 and Richard Grayson in unison. The voice inside himself merged with his own until the two became a single sound. He hugs Jason’s head, repeating. “Don’t give up on me…”

The scene plays out on a screen. The prosecutor studies the display, including the equipment and the alarms within the batcave. Before leaving, he’d attached a camera onto Dick. As soon as he sent the signal, the camera has changed into a mechanical bug, moving as he needed.

Batman is not the only one with toys.

“This is your plan?” An elderly voice sounded behind him.

The prosecutor turns, and bows respectfully. He then strides to the newcomer, pushing his wheelchair into the light of the screen. 

Under the fluorescent lighting, the Judge’s haggard face looks younger, reminiscent of his early years. His graceful youth has vanished into his muddled eyes and scar-like wrinkles.

The prosecutor smiles mirthlessly. He does not answer the Judge, instead gesturing him to keep watching.

On the screen, the Robins have left out of courtesy despite their confusion - they seem to trust the Talons will give a proper explanation later. 

Finally alone, Dick struggles to communicate with Jason. “Jason, I don’t know what to say…”

“Take your time. I’m dead anyway. We have a lot of time.” Jason’s face is blank, as he still believes himself to be in an illusion.

At this, the Judge shakes his head. “I heard that he’s severely wounded - yet he was able to recover to this extent this soon.” He turns to the prosecutor, waiting for an explanation.

“This particular Talon has been treated with the real Lazarus pit. His healing abilities are much more than those of other Talons. Our eighteenth test subject is much more resilient than his predecessors.” The prosecutor appraises Jason with satisfaction, as if weighing the value of a jewel. “I’ve experimented countless times - on the living and the dead. They’d either die from the ensuing insanity or the body would fall apart immediately. Only he was different - except perhaps a little confusion.”

“If this is considered only a little, then I suppose the Joker is only moderately psychotic? Am I to believe that medical science is able to save this kind of lunatic?”

The prosecutor shrugs. “Don’t be too harsh. Today’s science has yet to uncover the secret behind the Lazarus pit.”

“But, the fact that still surprises me is that Ra's al ghul had agreed to let you experiment. And that you’ve done it more than once.”

“This was a unanimous decision passed by the jury. We paid quite a bit of money for it, and a promise to alliance with the League of Assassins. At that time, you were still in the hospital - I didn’t want to disturb your rest.”

“Really?” The Judge glances at Jason, unimpressed. “The Lazarus Pit can really rejuvenate the old?”

“Of course. It can resurrect the dead and rejuvenate the old. Just look at Ra's al ghul. However, the side effects are not to be taken lightly. Look at poor Jason Todd. He’s been plagued by illusions since awakening. Yet’s he’s still fighting. This child is particularly resilient.”

The Judge remains silent.

“I need to experiment more - I need more data to fully understand the quality of the Lazarus Pit. Only then will you have the opportunity to return to the way you were.”

“No. I do not need my youth. Nor do I need to live forever. To grow old and die is a natural cycle of life.” The Judge rubs his stiff palms together, trying to warm them. “I’d rather the Pit resurrect you. I know that the dead cannot use their five senses - but I wanted you to live… like the living.”

“Do you now understand why I was so against my students being made into the dead?” The prosecutor’s smile is marred by resentment, but the weak lighting disguises it. He kneels on one knee, respectfully adjusting the Judge’s blanket. “They are my only students. Their meaning to me is the same as mine to you.”

“....”

“I need them.”

“You have the entire Court. And not far in the future, all this will be yours, my child.” The Judge caresses the prosecutor’s soft hair, the cold strands sifting through his gnarled fingers. “Is the Court less important than your students?” 

“I never wanted the Court.”

“Are they more important than me?”

The prosecutor bows his head, leaning into the touch. Annoyance flickers across his downcast eyes. “Of course not. You are the reason I continue to exist.”


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translator's note: Back to regular updates! Thanks for the patience.

Another round of illusions, Jason tells himself, but no longer as sure. 

Dick’s face remains the same, but the lifted corners of his mouth are frozen, his eyes blank - a badly-made wax statue. Not only that, but this statue is accompanied by several colourful clowns in tights. For a moment, Jason thought he’d landed in a circus.

Perhaps Dick’s circus was like this? To wake up without pands fighting a bunch of drag queens, and then be locked up while swaddled in in a straight jacket, a lunatic thrown into an asylum.

At this thought, Jason chuckles, gaining volume until he laughed out loud. What a hilarious dream. And here he thought he’d seen all that could be offered by humans’ sick imaginations.

The prison cell has been carefully furnished; the little table and bed have their corners tapered, the walls padded. It was almost identical to the examination room in the League of Assassins. For a moment, Jason could even smell the same scent - a mix of dust and sulphur. 

Maybe he was back at the League? Or Talia had taken in Dick? Did she save him? Wait. What happened before he fainted? Dick killed him countless times, and he killed Dick…. No, before that, he must have done something, or something was done to him.

The thick metal door slams open, the hinges creaking. Jason stifles his trail of thought and studies the newcomer. A child with black hair, blue eyes, and of an age when he should have been running wild in the neighbourhood with other kids. No one would take him for an ordinary child, however, for he emanates a brooding atmosphere, as if an adult has been trapped in the body of a child.

Oh, Dick’s helper. The tiny one in the tights that hit quite hard. 

The child looks as Jason as if he had not heard the laughter resonating in the room just seconds before. His gaze lingers along the straight jacket, a sliver of sympathy crawling into his marble-like eyes. The expression confused and irritated Jason. The little assassin never was the type to sympathize with the enemy.

“I think I know you.”

“Go away. I don’t want to know you.” Jason flops down, closing his eyes. 

The child strides to stand in front of the bed, not a single opening in his practiced movements. To Jason’s chagrin, the child’s movements reminds him a lot of the League of Assassins. As a result, Jason places a bit more emphasize on the significance of his dream regarding both the League and the Lazarus. 

The child’s disturbing eyes stare at Jason’s face, searching. “You cannot tell the difference between illusion and reality. Your memory is a mess. Thank the Lazarus for turning you into a lunatic.”

Jason’s eyes spring open. “What happened? What do you know, kid?”

Damian shakes his head. “You saved my father. Ended up with a hole in your chest. Someone managed to get water from the Lazarus pit and injected it into you. And now you are crazy.”

“I’ve been crazy for a long time.”

Jason turns around, his back to Damian. His fully matured figured varies greatly from Damian’s memory of a lanky teen. He’d turned into someone completely different within two years. 

“You remind me of one of my teachers, though I’ve never seen his face.” Damian leans against the wall. “Mother sent him to train me. Then… he vanished.”

Damian knows not where to begin or end the tale. He was certain that Jason was the same teacher - one who frequently gestured in midair, who muttered to himself. Mother has told him that this was a man who’d passed the test of Lazarus. She told him to learn from him his incessant will.

“I don’t remember.” Jason says. Damian realizes his voice had become huskier than before, perhaps due to the frequent smoking. He did tell Damian that he used to pick up abandoned cigarette butts. 

“Of course you don’t. At the time you didn’t even know if you were human.” Damian smirks. “But I think you do remember some things. For example the base of the League. And my mother.”

Jason tilts his head. Damian stiffens, nervously hoping he’d remember something about him. After all, Jason was one of the few people in Damian’s childhood to him he could talk to.

“Of course I remember the League,” Jason coldly laughs. “And that twisted woman. As for others, I do not.”

Damian stares at the floor, not knowing how to continue.

The door opens once more. The butler’s upper body sticks into the room. “Time for supper, Master Damian.” He then nods to Jason. “And for the sir whose name I do not know, your dinner will be brought here by Master Grayson. He insists on feeding you.”

“Is he crazy, or am I crazy?!” Jason springs up to a sitting position, staring at the butler’s stoic face.

“Tonight’s menu consists of roasted beef with bamboo shoots. With your current predicament, it’ll be difficult to feed yourself.” The butler turns his head towards Damian, who looked relieved before irritation takes over. He speeds out the door.

“Anything on Father?” he asks.

“Not at this moment, but…”

The door closes, shutting off the conversation.

The kid is as gullible as ever. Jason lies back down.

The conversation continues outside his cell.

“I don’t want dinner. I need to patrol. I don’t want Father to come back to a crime-infested Gotham.” Damian is losing hope. The entire family has searched for six days, yet found not a single clue.

“Only by the intake of energy can you effectively carry out your duties. Should Master Bruce come back to his sons yellowed and half-starved, that would a lack of diligence on my part.” Alfred firmly ushers Damian into the dining room. 

Two people awaited them. Tim warily glances at Dick, who was sitting across from him. The guy who only just a short while ago was stiff as a puppet, had the nerve to descend into their intimate space for dinner.

“Master Timothy, please refrain from sending such looks to our friends.”

“He’s not a friend, he’s a Talon.” Tim yanks his head to the side, looking away. “I suspect it was the Court that captured Batman. Before he vanished, B was looking for the Talon sent to assassinate Lincoln March.”

Dick cowers a bit from the words. Stiffly, he shrugs. “I used to be a Talon. Now, no. Abandoned, by Court.” He still stutters, but much better than before.

“But you don’t deny that you are a Talon,” Tim continues. “Who knows when you might betray us. You’ve caused too much trouble for us - though our biggest trouble is still lying in that room! What on earth did you give him? I saw everything through the camera.”

Dick swallows his urge to tell Red Robin about his mentor. Instinct tells him to refrain from spilling everything before talking to Jason. He falls silent.

Damian pulls up a chair beside Tim, interrupting his accusations. “It’s water from the Lazarus pit.”

“You sure?”

“Only the Lazarus has such effects,” Damian pauses, staring at Dick. “Seems like your Jason has been treated with this before. Otherwise he would not have survived it’s effects this time.”

“What do you mean?” Tim asks.

“The Pit… tests willpower. Anyone not worthy would simply melt. I’ve only seen a few people survive.” Damian frowns, not wanting to mention his grandfather. “Even the survivors could never break free from its effects, ones that drive you into madness.”

“So that’s what happened to Ra’s al Ghul,” Tim rubs his chin. “Hence when that Jason was injected with the water, he turned mad. Though he wasn’t someone to be called normal to begin with - at least he had rational thought. And one of the few Talons with their own will.”

“The water of the Pit broke the chains around his mind. They were never able to brainwash him in the first place.”

“Is that so… I guess we really pushed them to the edge - otherwise they would not have sent such a volatile assassin to kill us. Not to mention, he betrayed them.”

Dick looks around in confusion, only managing to catch certain words as he struggles to follow their trains of thoughts.

A glass clinked. 

Alfred is tapping the edge of a glass with a fork, interrupting the impromptu meeting. “Sirs, please refrain from working at the dinner table.”

The Robins sit up straight, obediently putting their hands on their knees as they wait to be served. Dick copies.

The affluent dinner distracts Dick from his hurt about how he’s been seen as a Talon. Instead he focuses on the food. It reminds him of that prestigious restaurant from a while back. Jason would love this.

But what Dick looks forward the most is the chocolate brownies served at the end. He’s slightly disappointed by the tiny squares, but they are delicious, the chocolate melting at the tip of tongue, turning just slightly bitter at the very end. 

It reminded him of his mother. Back at the circus, his mother used to make brownies for her family, and to share with everyone else. She often told him: “To make friends, start with the brownies. Sweet things make people happy.”

He has no friends, or sweets to give to others, but he really wishes for someone to help him and Jason. But to become friends with Batman means betraying the Court - they will destroy them… as they always did…

A plate of brownies, still untouched, is pushed across the table towards Tim.

“Take it,” Damian wrinkles his nose in disgust as he pushed his portion away from him while Alfred is in the kitchen. “If Pennyworth knew I didn’t eat the dessert, he’d be yelling at me again.”

Tim laughs, the spoon still in his mouth. “Alfred never yells. He’d just nag you over and over and over…” He lifts his chin, a condescending expression on his face as he imitated the butler’s British accent. “Young Master Damian, you must be grateful for the food you eat.”

Damian rolls his eyes, yet unable to suppress the smile.

To Dick, the two brothers gradually merge into his memories of a young self and Jason. At the time, Jason and Dick would sit on the steps behind that restaurant, each of them holding a piece of cake. Jason, knowing he liked sweets, would always gives him his own portion, and then settle for abandoned cigarette butts. 

Lifting his head, Dick pushes his remaining brownie towards Tim as well. A smile graced his features, lighting up his eyes and lending new life to his rigid face. 

And when he spoke, he didn’t stutter.

“I think it’s time I officially introduced myself. I’m Richard Grayson. Please call me Dick.”


	13. Intermission: A prequel comic!

Translator's note: The prequel comic to this fic, illustrated by Lisa-Jam, is now surveying for how many should be printed [here](http://lisa-jam.tumblr.com/post/145018142041/okay-guys-i-dont-know-if-you-still-remember)! Please check it out. The more people are interested, the cheaper the pricing may be for everyone involved.

Story resumes next chapter.

 


	14. Chapter 12

Despite their best efforts, they still could find no trace of Batman.

“He must be in the maze,” Dick tells Tim. “It’s very large, with no end in sight. The walls are white, with light from unknown sources. No food or water, but plenty of people attacking you - not letting you rest… unless you submit to their will.”

“If not?” Tim said, agitated.

“Death.” A sliver of panic seeps into Dick’s eyes. “They always have a way…. Through fear… no one could escape… no one.”

Tim tries to coax out more information Talon was unable to provide. It isn’t that Dick is uncooperative, but rather the maze had become the most traumatizing memories he had of the Court, the representative epitome of the Court’s absolute powers.

Batman has been missing for ten days. For an average person in that kind of hostile environment, this means certain death. But the family refuses to believe he could be anything but alive - because he’s Batman.

Another peaceful yet sleepless night at the Wayne manor. Red Robin has left with some other members for night patrol, while Damian remained behind to guard the batcave. 

Taking advantage of an opening, Dick slipped passed Damian to visit Alfred. At the time, the butler has been dusting Bruce - Batman’s reading room. A single lamp flickers at the corner of the impressive space, only just light up an area on the desk and the upper body of the butler. The buttons on his sleeves shimmered in a halo.

Alfred files the accumulated piles of papers on Bruce’s desk. Under the golden light, the creases of his face are but dark crevices, his eyes hooded. As opposed to a trained butler, he’s more like a father waiting for his son to return.

“Good evening, Alfred,” Dick poises by the curtains, half of his body cloaked with moonlight while the other half remained in the dark. “Uh. Could I call you Alfred?”

Alfred sets down the picture frame he’d been holding, and nods at the visitor. “Of course, Mr. Grayson.”

“Please call me Dick. Tim and … Damian all call me that.”

“As an adequate butler, I’m always required to mind my manners.” The butler smiles. “But I will call you Richard.”

Dick smiles back, but he quickly suppresses it, uncomfortable. “I really don’t know where he is. I.. I’m sorry.” The apology blurts out.

Dick knows the importance of Batman to everyone here. Not because of that cowl or that fear-inspiring power, but rather the person underneath. They care about him, just as he cares for Jason. His sense of guilt deepens every time he watches the butler caresses the picture frame, a feeling of helplessness and embarrassment. 

“This is not your fault. Do not apologize. But I do appreciate your concern. Thank you,” the butler reassures him. “Is something bothering you? You need not hide yourself behind the curtains.” He moves to escort Dick into the couches before the desk and settled them both into them, face to face. One sits close to the window, the silvery moonlight discolouring the figure beneath. The other huddles near the unlit fireplace, the darkness shrouding his outline completely.

Dick relishes in the darkness, feeling himself sink into the softness of the couch. He takes one moment to test the cushions for traps before relaxing his limbs. But as soon as he realizes that his calves and feet are exposed to the moonlight, he tucks them back in once more. His instincts as a Talon still haunts him, averting him to any sources of light.

“What did you want to talk about, Richard?”

The moonlight smoothes the crevices on Alfred’s face, erasing his age. He and the couch beneath him both basked in the silver light. His eyes glittered in the shadows casted by his high brows. A judge.

“I…” Dick stutters. “I want to talk to Jason. But he’s ignoring me… I’m… disappointed.” His head droops. 

“I heard that Mr. Todd is being plagued by hallucinations.”

“Yes. The side effect of Lazarus Pit…. I still remember that day… he…” Dick thinks back to his first day in the room to visit Jason. At the time, he was certain Jason would be fine when he wakes up - he was fantasizing their new future - a future with neither the Court nor Batman. He shivered in front of the metal door, almost unable to push it open due to excitement. His only thought was to talk to Jason - anything is fine.

But Jason rejected him. He rejected talking to him - rejected his feeding him - and any other form of assistance. Jason insists he’s only an illusion - and this is once again a lie. He had shut himself into the prison of his mind.

Dick tried all he could - all the things he thought Jason would like. But to no avail. Jason only looks him in apathy - as if studying a piece of art, or watching a movie. But just as he was on the brink of despair, Jason would once again stare at his face - his green eyes burning with a flame of fear, doubt, and obsession. It was something that could devour them both. And it was because of this that Dick could not give him up. He’s certain Jason is only sick.

Until today.

Jason finally spoke. 

Dick had been sitting on the floor, watching Jason on his bed as he reminisced their past together, when Jason started struggling.

“Don’t look at me!” Jason said, rolling from the bed and crashing into the hard ground. “Don’t use Dick’s eyes to look at me! Stop copying him, you imposter!” He squirmed forward, as if wanting to strike him - and then scuttled back, disgusted. At last he stopped moving, face down on the floor by the bed. 

Dick moved to help, but Jason stopped him.

“Don’t touch me.” Jason crouches into a fetal position, his eyes squeezed shut as if in fear of Dick. “Don’t use that face here. Don’t trick me anymore - don’t let me believe you are real, and then hurt me again… don’t…” His voice died in his throat and trickled out as tears.

Dick’s chest constricted, as if someone had punched him. He could not breath, the pain emanating from deep within. His outstretched hand jerked back. Unable to refuse Jason’s wishes, he left the room, lingering through the manor like a ghost until he saw the light from the reading room.

“This is all my fault.” Dick sinks deeper into the sofa, his hands pressed to his face. “I only wished to be together with him. I only… I don’t know how things became like this.”

He’s never hated himself this much - hated himself for giving Jason the Lazarus water, hated himself for believing their teacher so easily - hated himself for begging him to revive Jason. Hated himself for letting Jason die - and for the two of them to fall into the Court’s trap.

They could have avoided all this - but Dick had let it happen.

Alfred sighs. “I think Mr. Todd needs some time alone - as do you.”

“We’ve waited for so long - why do we need to be apart again?”

“To think.” Alfred pauses. “About the past, present, and the future.”

“But I’ve forgotten what I even look like - what am I supposed to think about?”

“Yourself then. You need to find yourself, who you are supposed to be - before trying to solve problems. And Jason - he needs a way of discerning reality. When the time comes, you’ll be able to be together again.”

The shrill sound of alarms pierced the night air, disrupting the quietness of the manor.

Dick jumps from the sofa, hovering low along the floor. The butler stands up as well, checking the status on his phone. The signal is coming from the sewer gates connected to the batcave, and a call of distress from Damian.

Dick watches the butler in fear. “Is it Jason? He’s going to leave me.”

The butler does not answer, instead leading Dick into the batcave.

All is in order in the cave - with neither signs of fighting nor blood. The door to the cell room is securely locked - Jason huddles in the corner, immersed in his own world and completely ignoring the ruckus. Damian is gone from the computers, instead kneeling in front of the sewer gates. He’s struggling to hold up a grown man in his arms. 

The intruder’s black armour has been shredded, his cape like dead leaves in autumn. His face is pale under the ragged cowl. His exposed left hand is thickly veined, thin and clutched like the claws of an eagle.

“Master Bruce!”

Damian lifts his head towards the butler, his child’s face full of fear and a measure of relief. It is only then did Dick remember he’s only ten. And that Batman is his father.

Dick saw himself in Damian, and Jason in the figure on the ground.

Hearing the butler’s voice, Batman slowly opens his eyes, his gaze muddled. Blood seeped into this eyes. With his last strength, he grabbed Alfred’s sleeves. His cracked lips quivered, and he forced out his voice.

“Alfred… they are… they are all…. The maze.”

Blackness descended.

“He got out from the maze….”

Damian and Alfred turns toward Dick, who stands not to far away, his face alight. His eyes burned with hope as he stares at the unconcious Batman.

“He’s… he’s the solution to the Court.”

A smile tugs at his mouth.


	15. Chapter 13

Even while trapped within the realms of a few square metres, Jason could sense something is off.

The butler wears an expression of perpetual sorrow, hurrying back and forth as if being harried by something urgent. Dick’s visits ceased to a mere few times, but his mood significantly improved - a few days ago he was still unwilling to leave, but now, he says to Jason: “I found a way - a way to help us!” And then vanishes.

Jason relaxes, finally able to have some time to himself. Yet at the same time, he senses emptiness. He scolds himself for feeling this way, determined that he was only mourning the loss of a communication to the outside world - and then scolds himself some more - What outside world? This is only an illusion.

_ According to the script, I died. Our teacher revived me using the Lazarus. I was the little prince’s teacher - I know Talia. Ah, Talia. That wickedly brilliant woman. Dick looked like he’d been brainwashed - our teacher went back on his word - what does he want, exactly? But Dick looks like he’s getting better. Hm. Batman got trapped in the Maze. I got beaten up for trying to save him. Why is it always me that’s getting hurt? Our teacher has access to the Lazarus - Dick injected it into my body. That damned Lazarus… _

_ Am I dead? Or am I still suffering in the Pit? Where am I? _

Jason’s mind rambles, unable to grope for an answer. But he’d expected this. He also has a method of dealing with his hallucinations - but he wants to save it as a last resort.

If this were reality, then…

Jason accepts the current circumstances, waiting for the other parts of his brain to stop tormenting him, to let him awaken.

Damian pulls open the metal door, revealing Jason stretched on the bed, his eyes staring at the blank ceiling. The man hasn’t changed from his time at the League - he’d either space out or yell at empty air - or kill whomever he saw. Sometimes he’d be responsive to talk, but rarely. Damian treasured those rare moments when his teacher kept his sanity.

Jason does not move but for his lips: “You are my first guest for the past few days - except for that old butler.”

Damian frowns as he strides over. He’s not in the mood for banter. “I need information. The maze.”

His father’s condition is worrisome. Since his escape, he’d remained befuddled, plagued by paranoia even more than usual. He’d lock himself in his room, or researched the Court on his own. He’d forbid them all from interfering, keeping to the task alone. 

But this is impossible. Batman needs help. Even without knowing the Court’s history, Damian knows that Gotham has fallen into its hands.

The maze changed Batman.

Jason does not look at Damian, but the latter is certain he’d heard him.

“Tell me, what is the maze like?” Damian leans against the wall, defeated. “Since coming home, father has changed.”

“He got out?” Jason is more interested at Batman’s success in his escape. “On his own?”

“Yes.” Damian lowers his head, thoughtful. “According to Pennyworth, he blew up the floor of the maze, leaving through the sewers.”

“And then got back by himself?”

Damian does not answer, averting his eyes.

Jason sneers. The kid is still a terrible liar. He’d only refuse to answer questions he does not want to answer. From this, Jason deduces: “There’s neither water nor food in the maze. Even if Batman could bear that, he’d be unable to come back alone. Someone helped him. But you don’t want to tell me.”

“Correct. My mother. She’d stayed in Gotham, helping the Court research serums for reviving Talons. I realized this as soon as I recognized the liquid from the back of those giants the other day.” Damian droops his head. “The Talons were brought to life again and again because of the Lazarus. You were brought back because of the Lazarus… the League of Assassins have been working with the Court of Owls all these years, and yet I knew nothing of it!” 

“Relax, kid. Instead of asking about the maze, which is a mere test at which your father is the only one to ever pass, you should be asking your mother why she’s working against her lover - why is she helping those evil owls?” Jason sits up on the bed, a flicker of slyness seeping into his green eyes. “But to make things clear, Talia has always been this kind of person. Accept it. Your mom is evil. Haha.”

Damian purses his lips, his eyebrows knotted into three deep creases. This is something no child would want to accept.

“How long has it been since you saw her?” Jason coaxes, his voice sickly sweet. “Or rather, how long has it been since she ditched you here? She abandoned you at last?”

The harsh words plunge into Damian’s heart. Despite his resolve as a warrior, he’s still at an age when children relied on their mothers. It is as Jason said. Since taking him to Bruce, his mother has not contacted him even once - as if she’d never had a child.

“No! She’s only testing me! To see if I can wear the mantle!”

“Then why does she not visit you? Maybe she’s too disappointed in you.”

Damian’s head snaps up. Wary creeps into his eyes. “You are saying these things on purpose. I’m not stupid.”

Jason snickers. “But you took the bait. Go find her - and take me with you. I have things to ask her as well.”

“I don’t believe you. You don’t remember me. And are hallucinating.”

“Who said I’d forget you, little prince?” Jason tilts his chin at a determined angle. “I still remember how I kicked you into the pool while you were chomping on grapes. Our first meeting too, how romantic.” 

Damian stares at Jason when he called him “little prince”, then his expression flitted between disbelief, anger, and embarrassment. He rushes over, yanking Jason by the collar. “You bastard! You lied to me! You told me you don’t remember!”  

Jason rolled his eyes, mumbling. “You should respect your teacher.” He nudges Damian away.

Taken by surprise, Damian falters a few steps.

“Get this off of me.” Jason tries to move his arms, but only managed to wiggle within the straightjacket. 

Damian narrows his eyes, still unwilling to fully believe Jason has recovered. “What if you lash out again?”

Jason relaxes upon hearing this. Looks like the kid has decided to go find Talia. That makes things easier.

“You should be glad I’m insane. If not, I’d ignore you.”

“Why?”

“You think someone sane would talk to their hallucinations?”

“You think I’m a hallucination?”

“More accurately, I don’t trust anything my eyes are seeing.”

* * *

Talia’s choice of residence is as glamorous as her visage: the presidential suite of the best hotel in Gotham. From the top, behind floor-to-ceiling glass windows, the entire city sprawls out beneath in a myriad of lights. The stars in Gotham exist not in its dreary skies, but on its streets.

Jason and Damian easily dodges the security, slithering into this impressive suite. Lights have been dimmed to the exact shade of comfort, highlighting the most magnificent aspects of the room. With every step he takes on the hand woven carpets, Jason felt as if he’s throwing away one dollar.

Whistling, Jason flops onto the soft couch and opens a hidden fridge door, taking out a bottle of whisky. He gulps it down without ice. Damian shoots him a look of disgust before sitting down beside him. His face looks even tenser than usual. Jason feels tired just look at him.

“Relax, kid.” Jason slides closer to Damian, patting his shoulder.  “Don’t be nervous. Though your mom is a bad person, but she’s a good- I mean… also a bad mom. Condolences.”

Damian slaps his hand away. “Shut up.”

“Don’t get angry. It’s not like you are the only kid with a bad mom. At least you have a good dad.”   
  


“I don’t think Batman is a good father. He…” Damian trails off, mixed emotions lingering in the air.

“What about him, my child.”

Talia glides down the stairs. Her evening gown is jewel-less, but undoubtedly expensive. Jason knows not about fashion, but he’d always thought her beautiful. But her perpetual look of superiority has always perplexed the penniless Jason.

“Hello, you wretched rich person.” He greets her heartlessly. “I brought your son. He wants to ask you stuff.”

Damian stares at his mother sliding towards him, his mouth open for a long moment before managing his words. “How have you been, mother.”

Talia laughs, the sliver of mockery irritates even Jason.

“My child, did you only learn useless chatter from your father?” She sits across from them, crossing her long legs. “I’m very disappointed.”

Damian’s face reddens for but a moment. “Mother, I have something I want to ask.”

“About the Court? I know their declaration of war towards Batman, and I know what you want to ask. Indeed, the League has always been an ally of the Court. Compared to Batman, the Court is much stronger. The League never needs to align itself with weaklings.”

“Father is no weakling! He’s stronger than anyone!” 

Jason interjects: “That I admit. He’d escaped from the maze alone, and survived for this long.”

Talia sneers. “But he’s but one person. His students are either unwilling to take his mantle, or not yet mature enough.” She glances at Damian, pointedly. 

“What are you doing for the Court?”

Jason interrupts. “She brings them water from the Lazarus Pit. They replicate the sample with their own inferior serums, even though they have better means available.” He looks at Talia.

She neither agrees nor denies - an obvious answer. But Damian is still confused - why make inferior serums when better ones are available.

As if reading Damian’s thoughts, Jason says: “No one can survive the better serums. All the bodies they’ve experimented on have turned into disgusting puddles.” He pauses, as if thinking of something funny. “Their only success turned crazy, haha!” 

“But why? You are my mother. And you are father’s….” Damian doesn’t know how to address his parents’ complicated relationship.

“His wife?” Talia smiles. “First of all, I never considered myself his wife. Though I do admire him, it does not mean I must be on his side. I only do what is best for me. You should learn this from me, my child.”

Damian bites his lips. He lunges to his feet and storms out of the suite. Jason spies the look of disappointment on the child’s face.

“You are too straightforward, Talia.” Jason takes out a glass and pours the whisky, pushing it across the coffee table. “He’s only a child.”

“My child and that of Batman. This dictates that he’ll never be an ordinary child.” Talia narrows her eyes, turning her attention to Jason. Her look turns icy. “I knew he’d come find me, but I didn’t expect you.”

“Oh, is that so.” Jason puts down the whisky. “Hi Talia, it’s been a while. I have something to ask you too.”

“What?”

“I think I’m trapped in my hallucinations again.”

“Then why are you here?” Talia removes her jewellry, throwing the pieces around the room. Her perfect makeup becomes marred by a fatigue she’d not shown in front of Damian, instantly aging her by years. “It’s illogical to seek advice from a hallucination.”

“No matter which one I’m trapped in, you’ve always pointed me in the right direction. Isn’t this strange? It’s as if you are the embodiment of reason. I never thought I’d have an evil conscience.”

“Cut the fluff. I’m not Damian.”

“Fine..” Jason stretches. “I saw Dick. He’s brainwashed. My teacher has gone against the deal between us - I’m angry. And then what happened. I think I got injured. So Dick got actual Lazarus Pit’s water to give to me.”

“So?”

“I can’t tell whether what I’m seeing is real or not.” Jason paws his hair. “I don’t know what I should do now….”

“You have a way of discerning,” Talia’s lips curl in interest. “You told me once that you had a dream while in the Lazarus, one where you and your little lover left the Court, and then…”

It was Jason’s first ever hallucination.

He didn’t die on that mission. When he’d opened his eyes, he found himself in a cottage in the Caribbeans. Dick had looked at him with tiredness but elation. He told him he’d survived, and they’d taken the chance to escape.

It was an island cut off from the world. The native residents spoke a different language, and distrusted outsiders. But Dick always had the knack of winning people over. Within a few days, they’d offered them help, teaching them their language and their ways. Jason and Dick lived as they did, enjoying the primitive but free lifestyle. 

If the dream had continued, then maybe Jason really had died, his bones and flesh corroded by the Lazarus, becoming one with its green waters. 

But when Dick died protecting a child from pirates, the dream shattered, as if unable to proceed without its main character. 

It was then that Jason realized that if Dick were to die, whether the dream was good or bad, the hallucination would vanish.

Jason rubs his temples, pained. “I can’t kill Dick to confirm. What if it’s real?... Then he’d really die.”

“Then why do you not try to use another way of controlling your hallucinations?” Talia presses. “You’ve always been led by the nose by your hallucinations. Why do you not take control of them instead, to submit them to your will?”

“What?”

“If this were a dream, then you are its master. Why do you not take control of it? If this were reality, then even more so - because this is your fate.” Talia says. “I’ve always admired you, Jason. Despite humble origins, you possess an indomitable will - I believe you have the ability to take control of yourself even better than my father did. I’m not your reason, Jason. You are.”

The words light up something within Jason’s muddled mind, a clarity on par with the parting of the Red Sea. Information connected, neurons snapping back into place. 

Talia watches him, satisfied.

“What should I do first?”

“Didn’t the Prosecutor want to meet with you?” She tantalizes him, her voice slithering like that of the snake of Eden. “Go.”


	16. Chapter 14

Dick gave himself a mission. 

He has started to observe Batman - his thought process, his research methods, and his social skills.

Even when the room is pitch black, Batman never switches on a lamp. He prefers the dark, as Talons do. However, Batman does not use the darkness for disguise, but for contemplation. Dick finds himself unable to keep up with the myriad of ways used by Batman to dig up secrets about the Court. He finds himself admiring the man’s perseverance and intelligence.

And as for interactions with other people, Batman has two sets of rules. 

Under Alfred’s careful care, the emaciated man slowly recovered to the Dark Knight, his eyes once again piercing. His lips are made for smiling, and yet he never does when donning the cowl. 

But as Bruce Wayne, his alter ego, he turns into the man Dick only knows as the playboy he’d seen on television. When Dick was still roaming the streets, he’d heard about the man who only knows how to fool around and lavish expensive gifts on his many lovers. He and Jason had even cursed him for his decadent lifestyle. 

The Bruce Wayne on TV is loved by everyone, the Prince of Gotham. He always wears a smiling mask, and trades witty banter with similarly affluent guests at a string of meaningless parties. 

But when he dons the cowl, he becomes the night itself, and the nightmare to all criminals. He presses his lips to a thin line as he surveys his city from his perch; a gargoyle.

The Batman Dick knows is a cold and calculating creature with formidable will. He’s someone misunderstood by masses and yet continues down the path he’d decided for himself. Even when immersed in darkness, he never negotiates. No matter how severe of a crime, he never deals out his own justice. 

Why? They deserve to die.

“He once said, only the law has the right to decide whether someone is guilty or not, and what punishment should be given,” Tim explains to him.

The Robin had slightly warmed to Dick after that exchange on the dinner table, yet remained wary. That is, until the night Dick saved him from an attacking Talon. Tim was grateful, and finally accepted this informal newest member of the family - but still suspicious of Jason.

“He’s Bruce Wayne. Very different from what I had imagined.” Dick says, playing with a batarang. 

It’s not the first time Tim had heard such an assessment. “It’s his disguise. No one would ever suspect that Bruce Wayne could be Batman,” he says as he prepares his equipment. 

“Even without it, I doubt anyone would suspect Bruce Wayne.” Dick’s brows furrow in confusion. “What kind of person do you think he is?”

“Hm…” Tim stops. “I’ve never met anymore more stubborn than he. He’s like a tape measure - always gauging out the perfect distance from others. He’s hard to get close to, and very strict. Anyway, he’s nothing like on TV.”

“What I was asking is what kind of personality? Hobbies? Likes?”

That stumps Tim. “I think he only likes Gotham. Maybe justice and the law.”

“What about Bruce?”

“Champagne, pretty women, and everything fun? Perhaps. I’ve never quite paid that much attention to that version of B.” Tim said. “It’s not the real him.”

Thinking back to his own self, Dick suggests: “Maybe he’s both. Batman. Bruce. Together they make Bruce Wayne.”

Tim jumps, as if startled by the theory. “That’s impossible.”

The conversation stops there, much to Dick’s dissatisfaction. He does not understand why he needed to ask, for he and Jason no longer needed such information on Batman - they are no longer Talons. 

But he could not control his curiosity. How on earth is Batman able to control himself, to never cross that final line. 

When they’d became Talons, even before the brainwashing, they’d already started killing - if only to protect each other. 

But that doesn’t make what they did right. 

Rather than protecting each other, they were adding to each other’s sins, caking their hands with blood - becoming killers and defending their actions for the purpose of survival. 

Since freeing himself from the control, Dick has never forgiven himself for this. Sometimes, life is not worth living, and not what’s most important. 

A few weeks later, Batman finally emerges from his room and steps food into the Batcave. The Robins hesitate in spite of their surprise,  wanting to ask about his condition but not sure how. Instead they shuffled where they stood, pretending to work on whatever task they’d been doing in hopes that Bruce would speak to them first. 

Jason spares him only one glance before returning his attention to his book borrowed from Alfred. Sprawled across the chair, he continues his thousandth re-read of Pride and Prejudice. 

Bruce lifts his head towards the T-Rex: “Richard, I need you to come with me.”

Robin stares in disbelief, unable to control himself. Tim only just manages to hold him back, but is unable to suppress his protests. “Father, why Grayson? He’s an outsider!” 

Bruce ignores Damian as he continues to watch the T-Rex. Comparatively, Tim is calm as he leans towards the mortified Damian. “This is to test Dick.”

Damian calms somewhat, but his cheeks still puffed in annoyance as he crosses his arms. 

Dick’s head emerges from between the T-Rex’s teeth. He glances in confusion at Batman, and then at others, until at last he can ignore the lingering order no longer. He lands lightly on his feet in front of Batman.

“Why me?”

Dick glances at Jason, who is still immersed in his own world. Since coming back with Damian, Jason has been given more freedom to move about the Manor. But he seems to hold no interest in life above the ground, preferring instead to remain in his tiny cell or within the Batcave, like now.

Their wardens don’t seem to care where they go either, confident that they’ll always be able to find them.

Bruce turns abruptly, not answering the question. “Come.”

“Do I need weapons?” Dick follows, curious.

“No.”

The cave falls silent as they leaves. Damian, still annoyed, jumps onto the table and crosses his legs. “Why does he always do this?! He never tells us anything!”

“Relax. We might have a new member soon.” Tim rubs Damian’s spiky hair, as if comforting an angry porcupine. “Maybe even two.”

Damian turns his attention to Jason, who appears apathetic towards what has just transpired. His green eyes, however, flashed from between the book pages.

Batman’s first stop is an explosion site at downtown. About one month ago, a four-story building suddenly exploded, killing dozens. The media crowed at the damage done, demanding to know where Batman was when it’d happened.

Dick surveys the area, realizing the limited information the newspaper chose to gloss over. Dark red tiles scattered everywhere, mixed with broken glass and crumbled concrete. They glittered under the vestiges of sunlight. The scene has not yet been cleaned up, with the rubble crowding out half of the narrow street. Scraps of possessions had mixed with dead leaves, and blood traces not yet removed by the rain.

A few people dug in the rubble for anything of value. Dick stoops to look at an abandoned stuffed toy - a pink elephant with it’s trunk extended. It’d have been cute if clean. Pity now it’s only garbage. 

Batman scans the rubble, and then starts digging. Within minutes, he straightens, a small knife glittering in his palm. A gold coin had been carved onto the handle, the face of an owl imprinted on its surface.

Of course Dick recognizes the knife - he has a few just like it in his pockets. “Did Talons do this?”

“At the time I was tailing the Talon that tried to assassinate me and my friend. We found his base here.” Batman puts the blade into his pocket. “I didn’t expect it to be a trap. Then the explosion.”

Batman is without his armour, his tailored suits. With only old clothes and the fatigue between his brows, he fits in perfectly with the surroundings.

Dick does not know what to say. For the purpose of capturing Batman, the Court is willing to bring down an entire apartment building. He could not help but ask himself if he’d done similar things.

Batman takes him to subsequent crime scenes, examining the evidence. He does not ask Dick for his opinions, only questioning about the methods of Talons when absolutely necessary.

It discomforts him, making him feel as if the guilt of these crimes have been added to him. He is in no position to defend himself, or to apologize. His heart sank, his legs leaden. 

That was when he sees the circus.

He recognizes it immediately. It’s his parents’ home - his home. Haley’s Circus.

Dick grabs Batman by his clothes, pointing desperately at the dusty tents. “Can we go there?”

Batman nods, understanding. 

It’s mid-autumn, a time when it’s most windy in Gotham. Only stragglers are in the circus, and students skipping class. They peruse the exhibits, but rarely spends any money. Dick follows the crowd, trying to relive his memories amongst the dusty old tents.

At the fortune-tellers’, he realizes that the Roma woman he had known had been switched for someone younger, sexier. The performers at the human exhibits aren’t people he’d known either. Even when the objects are still the same - he even found the graffiti he’d done as a child - the familiar people had gone.

Everything is old, yet new.

If there’s one thing still of comfort, it’s that the poster of the Flying Graysons remained on the billboard - as if to tell visitors about an indisputable legend.

Batman has vanished, but Dick doesn’t mind. He prefers it, in fact.

He sneaks into the performer’s tent, just in time to see the trapeze artists rehearse. Two men and a woman flip through the hair, turning, twisting, bringing the heart of anyone who watches to a halt. Good thing a safety net has been stretched out beneath them.

But Dick knows that when the performance starts at night, the net will vanish, as does any safety ropes.

His mother’s panicked face flashes before him - his body suddenly falling - his entire family was falling from a height even greater than that of this tent - a sensation heavier than a boulder rolling off of a cliff.

“Hey, this isn’t open to the public.” A girl reaches out to pat his shoulder.

Before she could make contact, Dick turns and grabs the calloused hand. He only just manages to control himself not to snap that arm.

The girl jumps, and then laughs. “Fast reflexes.”

Dick doesn’t know what to say, and only smiles.

The red haired girl is short, only to his shoulder. She’s dressed in the tight silver costume of the trapeze artists, her slim body made for wrapping around the ropes in midair. A splatter of freckles livened her face, suggesting a person who can’t sit still for any moment. She reminds him of his old friend Layla.

She freezes, staring at him, even touching his face for one moment. “Dick? Are you Dick?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translator's note: sorry for the long wait! Exams are coming up again for me. T.T


	17. Chapter 15

Layla was his favourite childhood friend.

Back then, she was but a short-haired tomboy, frequently getting into fights with the boys and leading them in pranks.

But the years had changed her, transforming her into not just a trapeze artist, but a beautiful young woman that Dick barely recognizes.

Memories of their times together lower his guard. He sits by her side in the worn old seats, watching the artists train as they chat.

“I can’t believe you really went for the trapeze,” he said, surprised. “I thought you’d learn animal husbandry from your father.”

They had all thought she’d pick up the family trade, taming wild beasts for the circus. But Layla preferred the feel of wind rushing through her hair as she swung along the trapeze - but despite hounding Dick to teach her his tricks, she could not emulate his grace, her movements instead reminiscent of a newly hatched duck.

“Tsk.” She lifts her chin proudly, the joys of childhood brightening her features. “I’m the star here. People come specifically to see me.”

“That sounds great.”

“But I’m never  as good as the Flying Graysons.” She lowers her voice. “When you left, I begged my parents to adopt you. But when we finally got to that orphanage, they told us you were already gone. If you had stayed with us at the circus, you’d still be a part of us.”

“That’s “if”, Layla.” Dick said, touched. He thought only Jason remembers him.

“I missed you, Dick.”

“I missed you too, and everyone else.”

The trapeze artists glide through the air; Dick watches him, almost seeing his family in their flips and turns. He thought this was going to be his life, travelling the world with his circus.

Yet now he sits on the audience’s seat, watching someone else dance on the stage that no longer belongs to him.

“So what are you up to now?” Sensing his distress, Layla tries to lighten the mood. “Trying to become a movie star, handsome?”

He fears this question the most.

Layla has become whom she wanted to be, and yet Dick has become whom he most despises.

Of course he’d thought about the future while living with Jason. He had no degree, and no money to get one. Joining the police force could have been a good choice after serving in the army. If possible, he’d have liked Jason to walk the same path - become more law-abiding. After he’d caught Jason smuggling heroin, Dick had always feared that he’d pass the point of no return.

“What would you want to do if I were to join the army?” He’d asked.

He thought Jason would brush him off, or give some flippant answer. But Jason had pondered his question seriously, taking a full five minutes before answering.

“Maybe become a priest. I heard them say that if you get a recommendation, you can study for free.”

Dicd had stared. “What?”

“Do you really have to be that surprised?” Jason turned his face away, but not before Dick caught the tinge of red.

“Why, Little Wing? You’ll need to read a lot, and learn Latin - and there’s not much money to be made, most importantly.”

“Because they can forgive and tolerate everyone, even drug addicts like my mom.” Jason’s hands went back to work, fixing a screw on Dick’s old bike. “I thought he wouldn’t want to come - but he did - and sent her off properly to her Maker.”

Dick remembered, of course. At the time, Mrs. Todd was past saving, her painful screams like knives on steel. They had no money for doctors, and could only save up for painkillers. It was a terrible time, Jason and him taking turns at the bedside while continuing to work.

That last day, she opened her eyes, the brightness within them returning but for a brief moment. Even her bark-like skin seemed to glow from within. She grabbed Jason’s hand, and made her final request. Only then did Jason find out that his mother was a Catholic.

“Would he come?” Dick asked. “We don’t have any money….”

Jason clenched his teeth, and turned to leave. Within minutes, he’d returned with the priest. The man was calm as he strode through the empty apartment, and nodded to the surprised Dick. He performed his duties diligently; Jason watched him, and then back towards his mother.

Perhaps it was then that Jason had found his path.

Though reality often had different plans.

“I want to be a police officer,” he says, finally answering Layla’s question.

Layla pats his shoulder, laughing. “I would never have known - that the prankster would grow up to become one who chases pranksters!”

Dick brightens. He points at the trapeze. “May I?”

“You haven’t practiced for years…” She hesitates, but then nods. “What am I saying? You are a Flying Grayson.”

The stage is a different world from the top of skyscrapers. There are bright lights instead of wailing winds, open space instead of malicious shadows. Dick stands on the narrow steps, looking down at everyone below. Layla stands across from him on the stage, her eyes encouraging - she might think his trembling is that of nervousness, but only he would understand the thrill of elation.

This is the place of his countless dreams. Once again, he’s a Flying Grayson.

“Dick, don’t force yourself; you can try another….”

He jumps from the top of the platform before she could finish, grabbing the trapeze as he glides through the air, surfing low like a seagull glancing over the water. The familiar wind whistles by his ears, and mixes with the yells of the performers below. Layla’s cry of alarm changed to that of delight as she swings the other trapeze towards him.

Dick hugs his knees and spins, grabbing the trapeze in a clean, fluid, movement.

This is what he’s born as, his first language.

He could not suppress his bubble of laughter as he gleefully takes in the applause from all the people in the tent.

All but one.

The newcomer has just stepped into the tent and chose to position himself in a secluded corner. No one else notices him.

Jason.

As if sensing his attention, Jason waves at him. There’s too much space between them for Dick to see if he were smiling. But seeing the wave was enough.

After a few rounds of warming up, Dick starts to show off moves that most professionals wouldn’t try without taking precautions.

“Dick, this isn’t an actual performance. Don’t push yourself,” Layla said, worry creasing her brows. “There’s no audience. Careful you don’t hurt yourself!”

How could a Grayson hurt himself flying? It’s his second nature, as effortless as breathing. And as for audience, isn’t Jason one?

“ _The lad on the rickety swing,_

_His movements fair as the angels sing._

_Gently he steals all the girls’ hearts,_

_And mine for his seamless art…._ ”

The performers laugh as they hear Dick sing this old song; they clap and whistle in beat as they watch him dance on the trapeze.

A shadow of a smile crumples Jason’s stiff face. He remembers the time when Dick used to work at the bar - he’d polish the glass as he sang this. And when Jason asked about the song, Dick would say it’s a melody his father sang for his mother.

As the routine ends, the performers crowd around Dick, admiring of his technique and teasing him about Layla.

“Is the song for her?” One girl asked, hiding shyly behind Layla, who snorted.

“I have a boyfriend,” she announces. “Even though Dick is so handsome, he’s not my type.”

And Dick smiles. “I sang it for someone else.”

“Oh?” Layla edges closer. “Who? Do I know them?”

“He’s a priest.” He glances at Jason. There is still too much distance between them for them to hear what’s been said, but Jason sees Dick wink at him; his expression softens.

He tilts his chin at Dick in reply, and then walks out of the tent.

The afternoon sun hangs lazily in the sky, inching downward into the west. The muddled light turns a tawny yellow as they shine on the dark buildings surrounding the park. Leaves crunch underfoot, adding a measure of age and loneliness to the worn circus. But the number of people has increased - weary parents bringing their exorbitantly energetic children.

Dick sneaks out after him, delighted but careful as he lurks a slight distance away. He used to be able to read his thoughts, but now, he cannot tell what Jason might be thinking.

“You followed us all the way here, Jason,” Dick stops a few feet behind his back. “Why?”

“Worried the old bat is gonna toss you into a dumpster.”

“That sounds like the old Jason.” Dick snickers, stepping around so he could see his face.

“So what do you think?”

“You looked like a flying squirrel.”

Dick pauses. “What’s a flying squirrel?”

Jason rolls his eyes, ignoring him.

“Then how’s my singing?” he presses on.

“It’s best for everyone if you don’t sing again, Grayson.”

A laugh, relieved. “So…. we are good?”

“Have to see.”

Although Jason’s expression was clear, something unreadable lurks beneath the surface. And it is only moments like this that make Dick realize that Jason has grown up, and no longer that gangly child.

He opens his arms and wraps them around Jason’s head, attempting to hug him like when they were kids. But he’s shorter now, and looks more as if he were hanging off of him. “You were barely to my shoulders, and now you are taller.”

Jason glances at him, pleased. “That’s a long time ago.”

“You were only my height when you died.” Dick said. An emptiness fills him. He’s missed so much. “And in the blink of an eye, you’ve grown so big.”

“We have more time in the future.” Jason turns and wraps his arms around Dick’s waist, his deep green eyes twin lakes reflecting Dick’s face. Slowly, he dips his head downward and pecks him on the cheek.

“You kissed the wrong spot, Little Wing.” Dick tips Jason’s head slightly back up, and hooks his other arm tight around his neck; he presses their lips together.

They give away to their desires, opening their mouths and entangling their tongues. Unwilling to pull apart, they remain locked in embrace as the crowds shift all around them, the cries of laughter fading into the background. Only they remain still at the same place, as if waiting for a good omen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translator's note: Thank you for your patience!<3


	18. Chapter 16

“God has not abandoned Gotham, letting Lincoln March return to his candidacy! With admirable bravery he protected Mr. Wayne, but was critically wounded himself. But! He has returned! Lincoln, you have my vote!” The anchorwoman laughs, her thick foundation unable to disguise the creases on her face. Only she knows whether she’s attracting to Lincoln March himself or his face.

The second star in Gotham, Lincoln March has brought a measure of hope to the struggling people. His parents had been murdered in a mugging, and yet he managed to rise above this personal tragedy, from the orphanage, to build an economic empire right below the snobby noses of Gotham’s nobility.

“My dream is to bring hope to Gotham and build an entirely new city!” 

The TV replays his motto in sync with the fanatic screams of his supporters. As the scene broadcasts across six screens of various sizes in the display window, Jason jeers, watching the reflection of his face twist grotesquely. This was just like the short stories of O. Henry, where the characters plod on with predetermined paths under the illusion of free will.

At nine in the morning, the streets comes alive with the outpouring of business elites armoured in suits and headphones, their incessant conversations peppered with polite laughs hidden under a stifling cloud of competition.

Lifting his head, Jason studies the business building standing next to a magnificent emporium. Other than Wayne Tower, this building is one of the most recognizable in Gotham; Lincoln March somehow manages to book an entire floor for his company.

No  matter how time flies, he’ll never be suited to working at a place like this.

Jason sighs, tossing his cigarette butt into the trash. If it had been anywhere else, he’d have thrown it onto the floor. But the orderly chaos of the area stopped him.

The receptionist is a blonde lady with perfectly arched eyebrows and winged eyeliner, lending her face an imperious, regal look. She glances up as he comes in and melts into a practiced smile: “ May I help you, Sir?”

Jason starts, unused to be treated with such respect. “I’m looking for Lincoln March.” Inadvertently he lowers his voice, unwilling to disrupt the calculated silence but for the flipping of pages and tapping of keyboards. 

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Just let him know it’s Jason Todd.”

“Our policies don’t allow me to do so unless you have an appointment,” she says, methodically picking up the phone as she studies Jason, who feels like a frog splayed out for dissection. “But given your seamless visage, I’ll make an exception.”

He’s wearing the clothes Alfred had lent him. Jason manages a smile, remembering how Dick mentioned he could be quite charming when smiling. He had protested, saying he only looked malicious.

“A malicious cutie.” Dick had said.

The thought makes his smile relax.

Within a few minutes, the lady transfers him to a man in a full suit, who soon transfers him to a woman in a pencil skirt, who then gives him to another suited man - dammit, both genders are starting to look identical to him.

After nearly passing through the entire floor, Jason is finally led to the head office. 

It’s much smaller than he’d imagined: two document cabinets, an ordinary desk, a window that faces Wayne Tower. There are no plants and no display cases filled with awards. As for Gotham’s future mayor, he’s standing by the window looking down at the people scurrying below - at the worker ants. 

“Jason, my prized pupil.” Lincoln shifts, the image of the vibrant politician from television vanishing into the calculating man standing before him. “I was just thinking when you’d come find me.”

“I cannot believe when I woke up that you are about to take over this city,” Jason sinks into the sofa in front of the desk, his face grim. “Should I call you Mr. March or “Teacher”?”

Lincoln March, prosecutor for the Court of Owls, pulls close the curtains. The room darkens, the small space a cage. What an ideal place for nefarious plans. He sits, ignoring the glares from Jason. He hasn’t changed, wearing his air of polished manners like a cologne. Jason has always hated it. 

“So how did you hide your corpse face?” Jason jeers. He knows the prosecutor’s real face better than anyone: a face supposedly loyal to the Court, yet hiding countless secrets.

Lincoln studies his warm hands, the screen beside him reflecting the pinkness of his face. He flashes his image a smile, satisfied.

“I should thank you, Jason. If you hadn’t been resurrected by the Lazarus Pit, my research would not have made such progress.” He takes out a syringe from a drawer, a glowing green liquid shimmering within. It looked no different from the artificial plasma the Court has made before. “Due to your data, I created this - a resurrection potion, if you will. Though only temporary, at least I’m still sane.”

“Is this what you told Dick to give me?”

“What you got was a hundred percent genuine Lazarus Pit water. No substitute would have worked on you, given you’ve been exposed to the real thing.”

“You don’t want to risk yourself, coward.”

Lincoln smiles, not caring about Jason’s anger. “For my plan, I cannot put myself in danger. One day, I’ll be able to make something that will permanently revive me.”

Jason glares at Lincoln, sensing something amiss. His teacher has changed; he’s become arrogant and talkative, and fake in his actions. A darkness lingers in his eyes, and yet their owners do not realize it.

Why is it that everyone thinks they are smart enough to scam everyone else?

The thought plagues Jason’s mind. He remembers Dick’s dead eyes and stiff mouth, and his deal with the prosecutor.

“I don’t care what you’ve done, but you broke our deal!” he gritted his teeth. “I said, you are allowed to do whatever you want with my dead body, but in exchange, you are not to touch Dick! But what have you done?!”

Lincoln leans against the back of his chair, bored. It’s as if Jason were a newborn kitten. His expression is reminiscent of that of Bruce Wayne’s when faced with the paparazzi. Only then did Jason realize the similarity between the two - black hair, blue eyes, a handsome face and an imperious air between the brows. 

The man shakes his head. “It was you who trespassed into my lab, exposed my secret, and saw my face. If I’d wished it, you’d have been dead then. And yet you had the nerve to blackmail me into the deal - which I kindly kept for all this time.”

“Son of a bitch…” Jason jumps up, his hands shaking. He hates himself for his naivete. 

“Shhh, child.” Lincoln taps the desk. “I’m not finished. Sit.”

The Prosecutor’s gray-blue eyes are lively, and yet Jason still cannot see the life in them. The man said nothing else, and yet Jason could not resist the stifling force that presses him downward, back into the sofa.

“Good,” the man nods. “You are still a good soldier.”

The humiliation stings Jason.

“I kept my promise. I did not brainwash Dick.” Lincoln’s smile marrs into something sinister. “It was he who found me, with your body. He begged me to bring you back, and in exchange, he’s willing to accept the Court’s judgement. And I succeeded. Look at you, my best creation. A resurrected dead. A true Lazarus!” 

Jason feels his organs clench together into a ball, the pain spreading through his heart as he gasps, struggling to pull air into his lungs. His head sags, unable to bear the weight of the truth. He lowers his head, his fists clenching so tight that his nails break the skin of his palm. Yet the pain does not subside. 

Annoyance. Despair. Anger. The three emotions weave together into a hammer that pounds at his temples.

Why does this always happen? Why cannot Dick just listen for once, and leave the Court by himself? They’d talked about this...

Jason is going to throw up.

Lincoln studies him, amused and expectant. He twirls a pen around his fingers. “My dear pupil, have you not realized? The two of you are tied together in this, two boulders rolling off of a cliff. Neither of you can stop on your own - you can only fall together.”

“Shut up.”

“Don’t deny it. Without the other, you could have achieved much more than what you have now. You’d have been the Court’s best assassins, each with the capability of taking over my position. And yet look at you now. You can only hide in the lair of the enemy, dreaming of the day that you might be free.”

“I told you to shut up!” 

“Not every couple is suited to be together.” Lincoln’s smile vanishes, replaced by a measure of earnestness Jason has never before seen. “If you don’t want the situation to worsen, it’s best to decide now.”

“Decide what.” Jason knows the answer.

“Believe me or the Batman. I can tell - Dick prefers the Batman.” Lincoln shrugs. “But that’s what I expected. He’s always following his conscience, trusting himself to do the right thing. And yet  _ you _ know that doing the right thing cannot always solve the problem.”

“Why should I believe someone who’s cheated me before?”

“Because you have no choice.” Lincoln sneers. “Batman is only Gotham’s Dark Knight. But the Court existed far longer than Gotham itself. Our influence is everywhere…. You should remember what I once told you. Can a single hero fight against the entire world?”

“...”

“Problem is, this organization is too old and too rotten. It needs a revolution to rejuvenate it. And I need new blood to help me achieve this. And in return, I will grant your wish.”

“....” Jason replies with silence, unable to rebuke him.

* * *

 

“Follow me.” Batman turns without another word.

Dick blinks at the receding back, slightly hunched. Confused, he turns to Tim, as if asking for advice.

“Go. I think B wants to ask you about the Court. He’s been researching them incessantly as of late.” Tim does not glance up from his book. He’s busy with this chemistry homework, even explaining to Dick some of this thesis despite the latter’s confusion.

Hesitant, Dick stands up, his brows knitting in a frown. He’s worried about Jason, who’d been gone since morning. It’s been three hours now, and he’s still not back.

Tim lifts his head from his book. “Honestly, I don’t know why you are so worried about Jason. He’s strong. The Talons could do nothing to him.” Only Jason could make Dick fret like this.

“He’s died once, right in front of me.” Dick says, the confession startling Tim. “I’m… scared he’s going to leave me again.”

“You can’t hold on to someone forever.” Tim swallows what he wants to say next: And your interdependence is a bit unhealthy.

“It’s weird hearing this from someone younger than me.” Dick smiles. He turns and strides to catch up to Batman. They crossed the cave to reach the lab. A naked male corpse is strewn across the operating table, his armour and weapons locked in display beside him. 

Dick caresses the knives and the poisonous needles, and studies the corpse. He doesn’t recognize him.

Batman is clad in his gray bathrobe, the bandages around his torso peeking from beneath the fabric. His unshaven chin lends him a look of fragility. 

“You still haven’t told me how you escaped the maze, by the way.” Dick edges closer, but not too much. “No one could escape it. Not Talons or anyone else.”

“I blew up the pool, and used the sewers connected to the pipe systems.”

“Whoa.” Dick is impressed. “And what about him?”

“He’s the Talon that attacked me in the maze. I broke his neck. His body showed up in the sewers a few days after I escaped. I assume he got washed down with the pool water.”

Dick nods. “He’s been abandoned. Otherwise he’d have been resurrected.”

“Tell me about the maze.”

“In addition to punishment, it’s a rite of passage for all assassins before becoming Talons. Our goal is to survive within the maze. There’s no sense of time there, just light, and walls that never recede. They send Talons after us. If we died, we were eliminated. If we lived, we’d be brainwashed.”

Batman does not reply, but he turns, as if encouraging him to continue.

“The Talons you’ve encountered are all reanimated corpses. There are only two living Talons.” Dick says.

“Their control over you isn’t absolute.”

“That’s because I didn’t go through the brainwashing process until much later, and not for very many times.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Dick tilts his head, feeling the concern in Batman’s eyes. “We should have been. But our teacher demanded that we be kept intact. Though we did get injected with a drug that limits our freedom.”

“But there’s none in your body now.”

“A gift from Jason,” Dick says, a sliver of mirth and sadness mingled in his eyes. “He rarely gives me anything. I don’t even know how he got the cure.” Dick mumbles something else, too incoherent for Batman to discern. 

Bruce does not press him further. He turns his attention back to the computer screen. “According to genetic analysis, this body is that of your maternal grandfather.”

“What?”

“Remember that circus you were in? It’s one of the places from which the Court selects candidates to be Talons.” Bruce tosses something to Dick.

It’s a wisdom tooth. Engraved on the side is the golden emblem of the Court of Owls. “They’d choose children from the circus. If you hadn’t left, you’ll get this on your teeth as well.”

“Then my parents….?”

“Maybe it’s because they didn’t want to give you up.”

Dick stares at the blackened tooth, and manages a smile. “Is this my fate then?”

“I’ve never believed in fate.” Bruce says, blue eyes gentle. “I’ll never hand my life over to the whim of those man-constructed fantasies. Dick, you may not have had the power to change the past, but you can choose your future.”

“My future…” Dick’s grip on the teeth tightens, the golden emblem glimmering.


	19. Chapter 17

Soon after Dick finishes his conversation with Batman, Jason returns, a steamy brown paper bag in his hands. With an expression of utter pride, he distributes a steamy hotdog to each member of the Wayne family.

“Mr. Todd, thank you for your considerate gift,” Alfred says. “But please do not buy such foods in the future. They are bad for your health.” Then he takes away Batman’s hotdog.

Tim stares at his own. “Did you burn down the hotdog stand or something?”

Jason gives him a disbelieving look. “Why would I need to if I can just steal a wallet.”

Laughing at their exchange, Dick pats Damian on the shoulders. “This brings me back.”

Damian tilts his head. “So he’s always been a thief.”

“Reality hurts.” Dick rubs Damian’s fuzzy head. The child reminds him of a child Jason sometimes - a mature yet cranky child. “He’d have been a good person had he grown up under different circumstances.”

Damian’s lips curl in disbelief. “Some things are genetic, Grayson.”

At this, Jason turns towards them. He motions for Damian to leave.

Damian purses his lips, defiant.

Jason’s mouth curls upward. He slinks toward Dick, pinning him in place with his suggestive gaze. Just as Dick thought he was going to kiss him, Jason lowers his head, the sharp bridge of his nose brushing against Dick’s collarbone. He traces the line from the neck up towards Dick’s face. With a smirk, he blows on Dick’s eyes, making him blink.

It would have been less seductive if they’d just kissed.

Damian jumps, eyes wide with anger. “How disgusting!” 

Tim bursts out laughing, unsympathetic towards Damian’s plight. He puts his arms on Damian’s shoulders and steers him out of the cave, giving some privacy to the two lovebirds.

The cave looms empty.

Retreating back across the cave, Jason leans against the wall, focused only on his hotdog. His eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought.

Dick does not believe he went out just to buy hotdogs, but does not know how to ask.

Looks like Jason has met up with the Prosecutor, and has made his decision.

A good decision or a bad one?

Dick would have asked had it been in the past, but now, he’s uncertain. Time flies, and distance has lengthened between them. He’s not sure he could face what comes next. “You shouldn’t take a child so seriously,” he says instead. Inching towards him, he notices the stubble on Jason’s chin. He’s no longer the child he’d left behind.

Jason snorts. “He’s not a child, that little monster.”

“How accurate,” Dick says, stuffing the last bit of hot dog into his mouth. “Is this the fruits of your morning excursion?”

“It’s not easy. Remember that little hotdog stand two blocks from my house? The old man’s gone. It’s his son now that’s managing the business.”

“How touching, Little Wing, for you to still remember what I like.”

“Shut up!” Jason lowers his head in embarrassment. He pulls a wrinkled napkin out of his pocket and throws it at Dick. “Wipe your mouth. Only you would eat hotdog so sloppily.”

“Obsessed with cleanliness as before.” Dick hooks his arms around Jason’s neck, closing his lips on the other’s ear. “I know you wanted to kiss me in front of them. Were you shy?”

Jason’s face turns crimson. He turns his face away, refusing to meet Dick’s gaze. Refusing to let him go, Dick place his hand around his face and forces him back, pushing their lips together.

The mustard-flavoured kiss makes them laugh.

If it weren’t for the glowing machinery all around them, Jason would have thought they were an ordinary couple, exchanging kisses after dinner. But in reality, they’ve been cornered, and could only hide out in this damp cave, waiting for their judgement. The realization wipes the smile from his Dick.

“Aren’t you bored being stuck here all day, Dickiebird? Wanna go out?”

Dick shrugs. “Would that be a date?”

“That would make the beginning of our relationship terrible.” Irritated, Jason grabs the napkin and wipes ketchup from the corner of Dick’s mouth.

Their first stop is the bar Dick used to work at. Before being taken away by the Court, he’d become its owner. They didn’t think it’d still remain open after six years, though the owner has obviously changed.  

Saddened, Dick studies the blackened restaurant sign. “I thought our date would be at an Italian Restaurant. With candles,” he says, trying to keep his tone light.

“How quaint.” Jason looks at the neon lights fashioned in the shape of a sailor. “What’s wrong with some nostalgia?” 

Given it’s proximity to the docks, most of the bar’s patrons are sailors and dock workers. Clad in sweat-soaked shirts throughout the year, they’d frequently get into fights, drunk on cheap beer and sex workers.

Smoke chokes the air within the bar. Jason prides himself on having learnt to do it here. He takes a few deep breathes, intoxicated. Dick, on the other hand, coughed. No matter how long he’s worked here, he could never get used to the smell of cigarettes.

The new bartender is a white girl with hair dyed brilliant blue, her eyes heavy with smoky eyeshadow and her body full of piercing. Her tanktop shows off the swirling tattoos across her back and arms.

She greets them as she wipes down the countertop with a yellowed cloth. “New faces. What would you like, boys?” The bubble gum in her mouth blows out, and then pops.

Like before, Jason refuses to touch the countertop. He looks at it in slight distaste. “Scotch for me. Don’t add anything to it. Just give him beer.”

Dick turns to him. “I didn’t know you drink strong alcohol.”

“You don’t know a lot of things, mom.” Jason takes out a leather wallet, throwing the girl a hundred-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

“Nice wallet.” The girl whistles, and steps away to pour their drinks.

Silences reigns between them.

At times like these, Dick used to be able to trick Jason into talking. But now, he fidgets, uncertain. It was the same awkwardness that plagued them on their way here. Despite their closeness, they had nothing to say.

Jason studies the rows of wine bottles on the shelves, his thoughts flurried. Dick could not possibly accept what their teacher has offered - he’d long since tired of living that way. Besides, a bird should never be trapped in a cage. It should be free, Jason decides. Let him handle the rest.

“You were never this generous,” Dick says, tentative.

“It’s not our money.” Jason purses his lips, throwing the wallet to Dick, who opens it to see the picture of a balding middle-aged man with eyes like dead fish. “The commerce centre is full of rich people. I’m just borrowing.”

Dick is too ecstatic by Jason’s use of “our” to scold him for stealing.

“Since you’ve already spent it, there’s no reason to talk to you about this.”

Jason tilts his chin, an imitation of Alfred. “Thank you.”

Another awkward silence ensues.

Restless, Dick starts pacing throughout the bar, checking for changes since he’s been gone. Jason watches him, silent.

Catching sight of the bartender flipping through a magazine, he asks: “Are you the owner?”

“As if I’d have the money,” the girl says, taking out a cigarette. As she gropes for a light, Jason tosses her his own. “Thanks,” she says. “The boss is a gambler. He gave this place to the Russians as collateral.”

“I’d thought Russians wouldn’t want a dingy place like this.”

“Better than nothing. They’ve been on the run from Batman.”

Batman is the guardian of the city, yet how many people thank him for it? Jason sighs. “Not many people here.”

“Wait until later.” The girl breathes out a circle of smoke, the muscles in her neck tensing. “At night, this place comes alive.” 

Alive with sex workers and drunkards. Jason snorts.

The bartender edges close. “I think I know you. You look quite different, though your boyfriend still looks the same.”

“What?”

She gestures at the wall with her cigarette. “Your picture is still up there. It was there before I started working here.”

As if on cue, Dick sees the framed photo. He lifts it off of its hook and waves at them excitedly.

“Look what I found! Our picture!” Dick hands it to Jason. “You were only to my shoulder then.”

Jason squints at the photo. It must have been Christmas when it was taken. His mother had only just passed away. In the picture, his gaunt face was joyless, staring at the camera with a cold glare. Dick was in formal clothes, smiling brightly as usual. But his gaze towards the boy in his arms was full of worry.

“Look at that frown,” Dick edges close. “Can’t you give just a bit of a smile?”

“Smile like an idiot like you? I’ll pass.”

“Ouch,” Dick clutches his chest and uses the excuse to drape himself across Jason’s torso. “I hate you.”

“You grew so much since then,” the bartender says.

Jason snorts, pleased. He hands the picture back to Dick, who carefully tucks it under his jacket. He blinks at the bartender, hopeful. “Can you give me this? It’s precious to me.”

The bartender shrugs.

“Is that necessary?” Jason asks. “It’s just a photo.”

“Our only photo together.” Dick says. “Wait, why don’t we take another?” He turns to the bartender. “Could you help us?”

“Sure,” she says, extending her hand. “Give me your phone.”

They exchanges a look, and then stares at her.

“Forgot?”

“We don’t have one.” Dick scratches his head, embarrassed. “Can we borrow yours?”

“Where’ve you been, darling? Under a rock?”

“Your profession is bound to encounter some strange fellas. Like us.” Jason drains his last drop of alcohol. “Bet you haven’t met anyone like us before . Fuckin’ cosplayers running around killing people and setting fires.”

“You suck at telling jokes.” The girl rolls her eyes. She gropes under the counter for her phone. “Seeing that you two aren’t bad looking, I’ll do you a favour.”

They find a good place near the pool table, where there’s enough light but not too many people. Jason and Dick leans against its edge, Dick’s arm hanging around Jason’s shoulder; Jason snakes a possessive arm around Dick’s waist. Despite their closeness, their expressions couldn’t be more dissimilar - Dick smiling, Jason glaring.

“Buddy, try to smile. Your lover is right beside you and I don’t owe you any money.” The girl draws a happy face in the air with her fingers. “It’s not a mafia photo. Besides. Even gangsters would smile for this.”

Jason grumbles in displeasure, but twitches the corners of his mouth upward. Time freezes the instant before he could remember how to smile, capturing a grinning Dick and his own awkward expression.

The bartender reviews the shot, dissatisfied with the result but unwilling to take exert more effort with retakes. She waves the camera in front of them. “I doubt either of you have emails? I’ll mail it to you, seeing how generous you are with the tip.”

Dick pauses. They can’t exactly have her mail it to Wayne Manor, and yet he doesn’t want to give up this rare opportunity. 

Jason picks up a pen from the counter beside the pile of drink menus, and quickly jots something down. Dick recognizes it as Jason’s old address with his mother.

“Mail it there.” Jason hands the bartender another hundred bucks. “If you don’t, you’ll deal with me. Don’t doubt the word of a murderer.” His eyes glint under the fluorescent lights. And for the first time, the bartender realizes that the man with the white fringe in his hair may not be joking after all.


	20. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translator's note: I am so so sorry for the long wait!!! Hopefully I'll finish translating everything this month! *fingers crossed.
> 
> Also this chapter will be somewhat explicit.

Night had descended by the time they’ve left the bar, but not enough for the streetlights to come on. The chill of the evening breeze made Dick tuck his neck into the collar of his jacket. The ends of his hair poked out. Jason reached out to straighten them.

“You should cut your hair,” he said, taking a cigarette out of his pocket when he was done. “Shall I take you to a barber?”

Dick touched his hair. “I like it. Why should I cut it?”

“So it looks less messy.”

“I’m Romani, Jason,” Dick laughed. “I prefer my freedom as opposed to what others think.”

“True that.” Jason lowered his head and lit his cigarette. His brows knitted together, the creases on his face deepening with worry.

“Is there something you needed to tell me?” Dick asked.

Jason turned to look at him, something unreadable rippling across his green eyes. Just as Dick thought Jason would confess, the latter shook his head. “Come with me first.”

It was Jason’s old home, which also became Dick’s.

The building was old, a slightly less worn one in the heart of downtown. Pieces of tiles were coming undone from the room. Pale, gaunt faces flitted past the cracked windows. A small playground stood across from it; the sandboxes were empty, and only the metal chains remained where the swings were. The slides had no rails, and even that great tree that was Dick’s favourite had been cut down, leaving behind a mere stump. A few scrawny children leapt over it, pretending to be Batman. Dick watched them, almost seeing within them their own childhood.

Jason puffed out a mouthful of smoke; his cold eyes narrowed, warming them somewhat. He dwindled back to the person Dick knew. “I remember you loved that tree. You carved our names onto it, even. I remember Jerry laughed at us a lot for that, calling us prissies.”

“I saw it on T.V. They said if you were to carve your names onto a tree, you’ll be together always.” Dick smiled at the memory. “But look, even the tree is gone now.” He paused. “Can we still be together?”

Jason did not answer, instead turning back into the building. A hollowness filled Dick’s chest.

The insides of the building was older than Jason remembered. The smell of rotting wood invaded their noses. Who knew where the building managers went. Someone spray painted the words “get out” on the doors to the manager’s office. The first floor appeared to be vacant, and based on its empty furnishings, thieves had frequented it.

Jason lived on the third flood; it had now been claimed by a group of teenage punks. They crowded into the hallways, all of them wearing heavy makeup, a roll of marijuana between their fingers. The party had already started. They jeered at Jason and Dick, whispering to each other as they walked past.

Annoyed, Jason pushed away a teen standing in his way. The boy wanted to lash back, but retreated when he gauged Jason’s muscles. Dick looked around in curiosity, fascinated by the way the teens dressed.

Having crossed with some difficulty past the crowd, they’ve arrived at the end of the hallway. A few more drug addicts skittered away from them, until at last they were alone. Only then did Jason take out a set of keys. With much difficulty and groaning, the lock cooperated. Dick glanced at it, noting the countless scratch marks - signs of attempted break-ins.

The door opened with a begrudging creak. This suite was against the setting sun, and thus was almost all dark. Jason groped for the light switch and turned it on. This time, he didn’t get cooperation as the light bulb flickered, and then exploded, the fragments glinting briefly in the dim light.

Dick poked his head through the doorway. “Remember how we were never worried about the electric bill, but the light bulbs?”

Jason did not answer, instead entering the apartment and then closing the door behind them. The noises from the hallway got cut off, leaving behind just Dick and the watchful silence. 

The room had been ditched by time. Since Jason had given it to the Russians as security for loans, nothing had changed. It was old but tidy, and Jason would be the only one to have kept it that way.

The floor creaked, the wood near the fireplace deformed. The couch Jason picked up from the dump was still there at the middle, the springs poking out from the cushions. Dick remembered how when they used to watch TV, the springs were the imaginary borders of a game they played; whoever crossed it would be punished. But soon the game came to a halt as Jason sold the TV to buy medicine for his mother.

Compared to the bar, Dick missed here more. This was their home together. And Dick had dreamt countless times of returning here to live together. It didn’t occur to him that they could stand here again once more. He did not feel an ounce of excitement, however - there was just so much to worry about.

He barged into Jason’s bedroom, coming to a halt in front of the wall marred with scribbles.

Jason never really celebrated his birthday - rather, he had no concept of it until Dick entered his life. Though Dick had no money to buy Jason gifts, he gave him a set of colourful crayons for Jason to write down his wishes onto the wall - one day they may come true.

At first Jason had resisted, but could not say no to Dick. Eventually, it became a habit, year after year. 

“I wish Dick would talk less. He’s too chattery.”

“I wish Dick were my real brother - though sometimes he looks like he wants to be my mom instead.”

“I wish that next year, I’ll be able to eat a chocolate brownie.”

Dick couldn’t muffled his snickers as he re-read what Jason had written. He turned to look at him, only to find him leaning against the glassless window, smoking one cigarette after another. The dim light turned Jason’s eyes into mellowed jewels, and they stared out listlessly.

“I wish our situation would get better.”

“I wish mom’s illness would be cured.”

“I wish Dick would be able to get that bar.”

“I wish for Dick to pass his entrance exam, so he can become a cop like he wanted.”

The handwriting gradually grew neater, following the years as its owner grew up. Dick caressed the letters, feeling the wax under his fingers, as if doing so would allow him to touch the hand that had written them. As he trailed his fingers downward, he noticed a slight bump near the very edge of the wallpaper. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that someone had pasted a piece of the identical wallpaper over the original. He carefully removed the top layer, revealing another wish written beneath. Based on chronological order, Jason would have been about sixteen.

“I wish for Dick to be with me always. I love him.”

His heart thundering in his ears, Dick looked at Jason. By now the sky had darkened completely; darkness, like a beast, had swallowed half of Jason’s face, leaving behind the prominence of his cheekbones and the paleness of his lips.

“Do you remember what happened after you got brainwashed by the Court?” Jason said, startling Dick. 

For a moment, Dick thought Jason had caught him. “What?”

“Do you remember the missions?”

Dick thought hard. He knew he’d done bad things, but it was hard to recall memories that had no ties to emotion. The past lingered like a sandcastle, ready to collapse any moment. “To be honest, I don’t remember - nor do I want to.”

Jason turned back to the window, as if unwilling to face him. “I remember some, but I always thought them hallucinations.”

“Why?”

“The water from the Lazarus did something to me. I can’t tell reality from my imagination.” Jason said, for the first time opening up completely. “And because of it, the Court couldn’t brainwash me. As a result, every time I finish a mission, they’d return me to the freezer. They’d inject more Lazarus water into me, as if I were some drug addict. They don’t want us to ever come into contact - because just by mentioning you, I’d go mad.”

“Jason…” Dick had heard about the incident from his handler - Talon number 139’s lack of self control, the murder of countless medical personnel. But at the time, Jason was but a mirage of the past to the brainwashed Dick. The Court had taken over all his focus. Guilt crawled up his throat, choking him.

“I didn’t even remember who I was for the first few times. But gradually I got used to it- and remembered some stuff.” Jason managed a smile. It pained Dick further. “I thought about you, and the past. But every time the mission ends, everything starts over. Finally. Finally they forgot to give me my injection. I woke up, still remembering everything, and I ditched the mission to find you.”

A coldness crept up Dick’s hands.

“I found you soon enough, though I had to burst the heads of a couple of the owls. And all the Talons that came after me went to their permanent graves.”

Dick hesitated. “You found me?”

“Of course.”

“What … was I like?” Dick didn’t dare look at him.

“I saw you on a mission at a port. You were reading lines like a robot, and then snapped the person’s neck without any hesitation.” Jason took another puff of his cigarette, its end lighting up a flickering instant to beyond. “I wanted to take you away, no matter what you became. No matter where. But I hesitated. I was afraid that the soul inside that body was no longer that of Richard Grayson.”

“I’m never going back! Even if I were to die, I will remain myself.” Dick interrupted. “I want to be Richard Grayson once again. I want to be a cop - a good person!”

Jason seemed unmoved by the outburst. He lowered his head, and grinded the cigarette butt on the windowsill at the end of a row he’d already finished. They stood there like tombstones.

“No matter what happens?”

“That’s right.” Dick watched Jason’s back, his mind going back to the Batman’s words. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

Jason turned towards him at last, facing him. His face remained obscured by shadows. “I’m willing to do anything for you, Richard. Whether it’s to kill or to die - if it were for you, nothing would be an issue for me.”

Jason’s confession was straightforward, but Dick felt no joy in it. The Jason the Court had given back to him was no longer the scrawny but angry child; he was looking at a stranger.

His gaze seemed to melt Jason’s stiff face into something more of a loss. He reached out a hand to Dick, his voice low. “Don’t be so far from me, Dick.

Like a siren to a sailor, Jason’s voice held irresistible charm. Dick gravitated towards him until at last, they stuck close to each other, almost able to see each other’s reflection in their eyes.

They didn’t know who made the first move. They kissed, breathes entangling with their saliva. Dick hooked his arms around Jason’s neck, whereas Jason gripped Dick by the waist. Jason’s hand snaked under Dick’s top, tracing the outline his waist, his muscles. 

 

Dick gripped him in desperation, as if trying to seek some assurance from the unsettling feeling within. He peeled back Jason’s jacket, tugging him into bed. The single bed groaned at the weight of two grown men, but they ignored it. They tore at each other like wild animals until at last, they pressed their naked bodies together.

From the dim streetlights outside, they could see the scars on each other’s bodies. Interlocking like a web, the scars spoke of a language of pain. Dick immediately spied the bullet wound on Jason’s abdomen, the crawling scar tissue a pale flower blooming against toned muscle.

Mesmerized, he touched it. Jason grabbed Dick’s hand; watching Dick’s face filled with guilt, he said: “It’s not your fault.”

“Jason…”

“Stop talking. I don’t want to hear it.” He swallowed what Dick was about to say, forcefully licking at the cracked lips, moistening the skin with his saliva. His tongue slipped into Dick’s mouth. Dick matched his movements with his own.

Dick’s length hardened, pressing against Jason’s stomach. The heat burned. Jason grabbed Dick’s hand before the latter could touch himself. He moved his lips away, enjoying the look of need on Dick’s face. 

“Hmph.” He pressed a kiss onto Dick’s palm, and then gently grazed the fingertips with his teeth. His movements were the most gentle, as if Dick were the most precious being in the world. Every touch of his emanated a suppressed carefulness, yet the frown between his brows betrayed his extreme need. 

Dick hooked his arms around Jason’s shoulders, forcing him downward. “You don’t have to be so gentle. I don’t need it.” He whispered in his ear, and then bit down on Jason’s earlobe.

Jason flinched. His eyes darkened, and he forced Dick’s arms down to the bed over his head. He buried his head at the crook of Dick’s collarbone, nibbling at the skin, drowning in the warmth. Bruises started to marr Dick’s skin. Dick welcomed it, the pain that was so different from the normal wounds he often suffered. His fingers and toes curled. 

Releasing a breathless sigh, Dick raised his legs and wrapped them around Jason’s waist, grinding their lengths together. A trickle of numbing pleasure tingled up their backs. Jason reciprocated Dick’s movements; he cupped a hand around Dick’s butt and squeezed, his fingers sneaking closer and closer towards the entrance until at last, he entered him.

Dick didn’t feel any discomfort as Jason inserted a finger. It excited him more that Jason was taking the initiative. Jason increased the number to three, his fingers stirring up Dick’s insides, brushing against the prostate. A wave of pleasure invaded his brain as Dick moaned, uring Jason on: “Faster, Little Wing…. Give me more…”

Jason let go of his restraint of Dick’s arms, and flipped him over. Before Dick realized, he was kneeling on the bed. Jason’s burning body slid behind him, a cold hand pressing down on the back of Dick’s neck. Dick was forced to press his forehead into the mattress - he could smell the mold.

He didn’t like this position, for he could not see Jason’s face. But he preferred satisfying Jason than himself at this moment. Before he could protest, however, Jason had entered him.

Filled to the brim and connected with each other in the most intimate of ways, Dick felt the hollowness in his chest close up. His head, however, pounded with a piercing pain. The lack of lubrication trapped Jason’s movements, but none wanted to stop.

As Dick adjusted to the length inside of him, he patted the hand still pressed to the back of his neck. Only then did Jason start to slowly move, made difficult by the dryness. Dick groaned in a low voice mixed with slight pain. Sweat trickled down his temples and into his eyes, blurring his vision. He thought he might be bleeding as well - a rust-like smell permeated the air.

Jason stopped, squeezing Dick questioningly.

“Don’t stop… Jason… come closer… let me feel you.”

Dick propped himself up, moving in unison with Jason’s thrusts. In kind, Jason crouched low, his heavy breaths at Dick’s ear, his sweat dripping onto his back.

He didn’t speak, but rather bit down on Dick’s neck like a predator treating its prey, drawing blood. A strange satisfaction filled Dick. He wanted Jason to leave marks - to show that he belonged to Jason only, and not the Court of Owls.

Hormones rampaged between the two young bodies, more addictive than any drug. Everything spiralled out of control as they let their primal instincts take over.

“Jason… let me see your face… please…” Dick begged. 

Jason released him, turning him over. Dick looked up through his blurred vision, just making out Jason’s cold green eyes. He reached out and touched the stubble on Jason’s cheeks. Jason leaned forward, clasping their hands together.

Only now did this almost war-like lovemaking session take on some tenderness exclusive to lovers. Gently, Jason lifted Dick until the latter hung helplessly off of him. He never slowed his torturous thrusts. Dick’s arms hung uselessly down Jason’s back, his sweat-soaked head lying upon his shoulder.

His eyes filled with tears, be it pain or despair. They finally spilled over, trickling down the corners of his eyes. But neither noticed in the midst of their lovemaking session.

Dick had a hunch. This time, Jason was leaving him for good.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	21. Chapter 19

The confrontations between Batman and the Court taught both sides valuable information.

The Court has ceased sending Talons, whereas Batman only did reconnaissance about its fringes. As if trapped in a tug-of-war, a slight wrong move on either side would tip the balance.

It was the calm before a storm, but the thunder has already arrived.

For some reason, a tension had appeared between Dick and Jason. Dick had started started avoiding the Jason, preferring to instead follow Batman on his investigations or Red Robin on his patrols. He’d fallen in love with the life of a vigilante, and with upholding justice. On the other hand, Jason almost never left the Batcave. Sometimes he’d zone out at Dick’s back, sometimes he’d hide himself to read.

They were each trying hard to hang on to the apparent peace.

No one else noticed the change in their interactions, or if they did, they wouldn’t ask. Their bonds had become too tangled for any third person to intrude. Only Damian felt something was off - he was puzzled by Jason’s behaviour.

His teacher had never been one to be so settled.

Just as dusk brushed against the edges of the horizon, Dick left with Red Robin for patrol, while Bruce and Damian were left monitoring the city through surveillance cameras. On one of the screens, he watched Jason sprawled out on the bed, a book in his hands. Now was the chance to talk.

“Teacher.”

Jason lifted his eyes from the pages. Damian stood rigidly at the door, the edges of his round face pulled taut, his hands fisted. 

“What?” he said, flipping a page.

“What are you planning?”

“What?”

“You can’t fool me.” Damian’s eyes almost glowed in the dim light. “Grayson is avoiding you. He’s sensing something he does not wish to see. You are trying to hide something - I’ve always thought you crazy, but apparently you still have some brain functions left.”

“....”

Jason snapped closed his book and sat up, his attention fixated on Damian.

Since Jason had recovered, he’d be plagued by hallucinations, rage filled to the brim in his green eyes. But for him to have thrown all that away could only mean that he was planning something big.

Damian had seen this before - when Jason escaped from the League of Assassins.

“Are you going to take the side of the Owls?”

Jason laughed, though the warmth never reached his eyes. “And you, little prince? Your mom is working with the Court - not that I’m surprised. The League has always been an opportunistic bunch. What about you?”

Damian bowed his head. “I’m Robin. Robin is always on Batman’s side.”

“You really believe the crap Batman teaches?” Jason sighed, disappointed. He shrugged, as if faced with a stubborn child. “His willpower is admirable, but he’s just one person. There are ways of this world that were born long before laws even came into existence. Should your father choose to fight them to the end, he’ll just die for his ideals.”

Damian answered him with silence. A twinge of worry furrowed his brows.

“And you, why do you follow your father? To be a good son? To succeed his mission? Or for that same, stupid, unsubstantiated ideal?”

“I’m his son. No matter what, I’ll support him.” Damian said, adamant in the face of Jason’s mockery. “And why do you support the Court? They treat you as dispensable tools. And you said you hated them.”

“Kiddo, I don’t need to like them. I just need them to solve my problem.” Jason stood up from the bed, signalling the end of their conversation. “Now, let’s play a game.”

A warning of danger pounded at Damian’s head. 

“It’s called:  _ don’t let me catch you _ .”

***

Bruce once again hid himself in the dark room, watching the projection of Gotham shimmering blue on his walls. Despite the large window to his side, there were no other sources of light. Most of the room remained immersed in darkness but for the projection wall and the rectangle it casted onto the floor.

The weather was especially bad today, even for Gotham. Something ripped within the layers of clouds, waves crashing against an unknown shore. Soon the window became splattered with rain, and the noises increased. The last autumn rain of Gotham.

Bruce remained huddled in his couch, watching the projection. His blue eyes remained steely, robotic.

He’d always thought Gotham was his city, whether he was Batman or Bruce Wayne. But the existence of the Court slapped the contrary right in his face. This much older, eviller, and yet highly organized force never left the city; it threatened his ancestors, and yet he’d dismissed it as an urban legend.

The roots of the Court sunk deep into the city, reaching far and wide in various industries, social classes - they were the elites of each of their fields, controlling the city from its very core. They had no lack of funds or of manpower - even some higherups in the Wayne Enterprise seemed to be affiliated. 

Yet in spite of their vast networks, no information leaked about them but for the children’s tales. There was no proof that such a society existed: no information on their location, their members - and their Talons.

But Gotham never belonged to any man or organization. She stood here, immersed in both pain and joy, good or bad. Batman. Court of Owls. All would be just a mere speck of her whole existence.

“Arrogant, entitled, foolish…” Bruce could only describe himself as such.

The glass panes of the windows shook as the raindrops got bigger. A shiver trickled up Bruce’s back. He turned his head.

A person huddled in the darkest corner of the room, his entire outline blurred by shadows. Batman stood up at the sight of this uninvited guest.

The person moved, approaching Batman and his projection city with silent steps. He stopped until the light from the projection entirely illuminated him. His goggles reflected back the light, an owl in the dead of night.

Jason was in full Talon ensemble, a gun in his hands. 

“Surprised to see me, Batman?” He tilted his neck, looking at the mini city on the wall. “Your interests are identical to the guys the Court, as if this city would belong to you just because you have a model of it in your room.”

Bruce glanced at the glass on his table, calculating whether it would buy him enough time should he shatter it. 

“Don’t even think about it.” Jason raised his gun, pointing the barrel first at him, then at the glass. He smirked, and then lowered the weapon and clicked the safety lock back to place. “I’m no wish to harm you. There’s no need to make this situation worse.”

“You are going back to the Owls,” Bruce lowered his voice. “But you didn’t tell Dick.”

Jason made a carelessly shake of his head. “He must have guessed.”

“I thought you two would be one.”

“Dick is always softhearted. He has no wish to hurt anyone; he said he’d rather die than go back.” Jason pulled his goggles over his face, obscuring his features. As such, he looked no different from any other Talon. Since I don’t want him to die because of such a stupid reason, I’ll be the bad guy.”

“You’ve no need to bow to them.”

“The Court is stronger than you could ever imagine, Batman. Do you think it only exists in Gotham?” Jason stretched out his arms, a predatory bird testing its talons. “They are everywhere, and never have they spared a traitor.”

“The Court thinks it has the right to judge others; it's no different from other crimes. You’ve no need to let you sink in further - there’s always a choice…”

“Choice? Of course. You were born as Bruce Wayne, prince of Gotham. You’ve always had a choice. But not us!” He pointed an accusing finger. “You and those bastards at the Court. You are no different from each other. Born into wealth, you play this city in the palm of your hands. Whereas for people like us, all we want to do is to live.”

“And so you are willing to go back and slave for them?” Bruce said. “To live. To become weapons to hurt other people; to exchange the lives of innocent people for your own. Is that what you want?”

“Who said I’m going back to work for them?” A smirk curved Jason’s mouth. “I’ve my own plans.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, his voice low and enticing. “What are you planning?”

“Why should I tell you?”

A shrill alarm pierced the rhythmic splatter of rain. Alfred burst into the room, his frantic face a contrast to his usual collected demeanor. “Master Bruce, surveillance shows that about twenty Talons have infiltrated the manor.” 

Distracted, by the time Bruce turned back to Jason, he’d already vanished.

But that’s not his priority right now. As he ran with Alfred towards the Batcave, he asked: “Where’s Damian?”

The concern on Alfred’s face deepened. “I could locate him.”

“Go lock onto his position from the Cave, and watch the manor.”

“What are you going to do, Master Bruce?”

“The battle has started.”

Hordes of Talons rushed towards the manor, the formerly spacious garden filled and trampled. Most focused on entering the manor, and ignored a fellow Talon going the other direction. A few, however, stopped to greet him.

Jason grabbed one of them. “Where’s the prosecutor?”

That Talon saluted him first, then said: “Our new Judge is at the meeting room interrogating the old judge and his jury.”

“And?”

“Talons will win, and the Court will greet our new leader soon.”

Jason did not believe that the prosecutor could have such authority, toppling the upper levels of the Court in a single night. But based on this Talon’s reaction, it seemed Lincoln March had succeeded. He’d told Jason that the night of the coup d'etat, he’d release all the Talons, who would no longer be loyal to the Court, but to him and him alone.

Jason did not know how he’d done it, but he doubt the Court would change the fundamental method with which it controlled the Talons. 

Should all the Talons recover their memories, what would happen?

“What other plans does he have??”

“The new judge has commanded us to assassinate a list of people that would impede our governing of Gotham. Like the old members of the Court. Like Batman.”

Jason frowned, The prosecutor had not told him this, but he could guess his motives.

Lincoln March not only wants to get rid of the old generation of Owls, but also the people upholding justice within the city. After this terrifying night, the Court will once again return to centre stage, controlling this city with fear. And the prosecutor would lead as both mayor Lincoln March and the Judge of the new Court of Owls.

A new era would begin.

Jason’s role would be to assist him in getting rid of his biggest foe, the Batman. As a reward, he’d succeed him as the new prosecutor, leader of all the Talons. As long as the Court regains its stability, the members in the other regions would not question anything.

In reality, Jason cared not what Lincoln wants or gets; he only needed one result. 

As long as he’s part of the Court, Dick would be safe. 


	22. Chapter 20

Dick enjoyed swinging across the sky, especially at night. The black night is the roof of the circus tent, the billboards on skyscrapers stage lights. Like a newborn hawk he flitted across the sky, one step ahead of Red Robin in seeking out criminals.

And as for Tim, rather than a vigilante, he seemed more like a supervisor tonight. He’d stop Dick should the latter showed any signs of impulsivity, and today, his charge seemed extra agitated.

Just now, Dick had struck a criminal so hard on the throat that the man went into shock. Red Robin had to give him emergency aid, injecting the poor guy with epinephrine to force restart his heart. Dick paced listlessly on the side, wanting to do something to help but not knowing how - he only knows how to kill, not to save. 

When the ambulance dragged away the man, Dick’s shoulders slumped. He glanced guiltily at Red Robin. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t want to kill him… I just…”

“Dick, this isn’t your first time out on patrol.” Red Robin pulled his hood off, revealing a face much younger than his words. “I thought you’d be able to control yourself by now - as you’ve shown in the past. What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried,” Dick turned his face, unable to face Tim’s piercing gaze.

Since that night at Jason’s old apartment, the gap between the two of them had not closed with their physical intimacy, but widened. Now they seemed like two people on either side of a cliff, wanting to talk but could not risk to yell.

Tim guessed the reason almost immediately. “Jason?”

Dick opened his mouth, not knowing where to start. Tim waited patiently.

“Do you all think we are inseparable?” Dick asked at last. 

“Uh, is that not the case?” Tim said.  _ You are like the same person _ , he added to himself.

A splatter of rain picked up, smashing against their bodies without warning. Soon it picked up until threads of water streamed from the sky; shards of ice embedded within the water, clinking on the ground. Even the homeless had now sought shelter from the sleet.

Tim and Dick didn’t move, remaining standing in the rain, the water sliding off of their armour. The water blurred their vision and forced them to raise their voices.

“To be honest, our views had never coincided.”Dick said, his breath solidifying into white smoke as it escaped. “He has his plans, I have my conscience. Neither of us are one to compromise. We fought a lot, but could never really leave each other.”

“And why are you fighting now?”

“Not exactly a fight. He…” Dick wiped the water away from his goggles. His blue eyes filled with confusion and pain. He managed a smile at Tim. “I wanted to say that he’s changed. But I had no right to accuse the Court of doing that to him. We’ve both changed - and some things need not be said to know that we’d never agree.”

“You could try getting to know each other again. For you, I don’t think this would be too difficult.”

“I don’t know how to start. He was never someone who’s easy to read - even more so now. And he’s turned dangerous and easily angered.”

“But haven’t you noticed? Todd always follows you with his eyes. I don’t think that’s the kind of look that belongs to someone who’s trying to hide.” Tim paused, giving Dick a moment to digest his words. “Why not try it? He’s always wanted you to understand him - he’s just waiting for your reply.”

Tim was right, but Dick had been trying to ignore the signs. Jason’s confession at the old apartment burdened him. His wish had been simple; he’d never wanted Jason to kill for him.

_ Let’s forget everything, and go a place where no one could recognize us. And live together. As long as we are together.  _ Dick had wanted to tell Jason this, but Jason seemed to see it as an impossible dream.

Their earpieces crackled. Alfred’s voice cracked through the transmission: “Emergency. Red Robin. Talon. Batman asks you to save the people on this list.”

A hologram blinked into existence onto Red Robin’s transmission device. Endless scrolls of tiny texts rolled across the projection. Tim scanned it, recognizing many of the names as speakers who frequent major media outlets.

“Alfred, what’s the situation?”

“The Court has sent countless Talons to attack the manor. Master Bruce found this list on one of their devices. Tonight, the Court not only wants to kill Batman, but also anyone else that could get in their way!”

Dick frowned. He was familiar with the methods of the Court. Those Owls, used to lurking beneath the surface, would never use such open, brutal methods. They’d rarely grant execution to their enemies, preferring to torture them endlessly. To these people, the display of wealth and intelligence ranked far above brutal force. Even the Talons were simply a means for them to dispose of the lowly peasants that refused to comply with the rules of their game.

The people on this list did not match their modus operandi. 

“What about the security system in the Batcave?”

“Shut down by Mr. Todd. He’s the one that led them here.”

Tim glanced at Dick, whose face bleached of all colour. The former Talon clenched his jaw, the lines of his cheeks hardening.

“How’s the Knight? And you, Alfred?”

“We have everything under control. We’ve frozen them with liquid nitrogen. Their artificial blood makes them susceptible to cold.”

“And Damian?”

“He was knocked out and placed into the mouth of the T-Rex. The Talons didn’t find him.”

The work of Jason. 

“Alright,” Tim said. “I will check on everyone on this list with Dick. Please contact the Birds of Prey and Oracle.”

“Very well, Master Timothy. Let’s hope no tragedy has occurred yet.” 

Tim closed the transmission and turned back to Dick, but he was already gone.

* * *

 

Multiple islands surround Gotham, most of which used as important ports controlled by multiple corporations. But a few islands maintained their neutrality - a rare case in such a competitive city. Some say that those islands had been bought by the rich of Gotham as vacation homes by the sea. Other say it’s because nobody wanted to invest in such a new piece of land when there are better investments within the city

Sullivan island is one such untouched island. From the distance, it looked almost feral, with forests cracking up the cement roads and bridges about to collapse. It was once an affluent place, owned by a world-famous businessman. But he’d committed suicide after an economic depression threw him into poverty. He took his life on this very island. Since then, no one had wanted to buy it, for fear of contracting bad luck.

Bruce had visited here in his childhood - at the time, he was certain it was the Court of Owls that killed his parents. To discover the truth, he’d combed the island through, yet finding nothing but rot and mould. He’d almost died, having been trapped here. And since then, he hadn’t believed in the stories.

When Jason first heart of this from Damian, he admired that a prissy young master could find this place just from his own research. Bruce Wayne had the truth almost within his grasp, but luck had other plans. Had Bruce Wayne came to this island on the days when Court was in session, the end would have been different.

Rain continued, but let up a little. Jason threaded in between the withered forest, his breath coming out in white puffs Mud and leaves stuck to the bottom of his shoes and he made his way up the stairs.

After his teacher had commanded him to disable the Wayne Manor’s security systems, he was ordered to come to Court immediately. Here in the ruined manor by the sea, the former leader of the Talons would ascend to become the new Judge. Anyone opposing him would be gifted with poisoned wine - a rare mercy.

The manor had been built along a cliff at the edge of Sullivan island. After continual exposure to the elements and with no maintenance, the paint had already peeled off of the walls, leaving behind the drab grey skeleton. There were no windows, but ragged curtains sometimes would peek through on windy days. The door, wide enough to fit four people across, was mounted with the statue of an owl. It glared at jason.

More owls awaited him inside. Sculptures and paintings of the bird was everywhere.

Unlike most birds, owls do not build their own nests, preferring instead to take up hollowed tree trunks, caves, and the nests of others.

The main hall stood in the centre of the second floor, its doors only partly closed. Light filtered through the crack, waiting. Jason pushed them open. The smell of blood assailed him. He glanced around, brows furrowing.

Members of the jury lay strewn across the floor or slumped on the long table. These aristocrats of Gotham stared up in horror at nothingness, their expensive clothing tainted with blood, their mouths open. Blood pooled on the floor and had not yet fully congealed, staining the expensive Persian rugs. The flickers from the fireplace reflected the glassiness of their eyes, frozen at the instant before death.

Stepping over the bodies, Jason inspected a couple, noting the efficient and professional wounds that could have only been caused by Talons. One of the victims had even drawn his gun, but before he could shoot, both the gun and his arm had been cut clean off. His expression was frozen in surprise and terror.

Jason placed a white mask over his face.

Deeper into the room, at the back of the balcony, came the prosecutor’s voice.

“You are amazing, old bag.” he snickered. “I underestimated you to have discovered my plan, even sending so many Talons after me.”

Through the glass doors, Jason saw his teacher face to face with the old Judge. The older Talon was covered in blood, but no wounds. His uniform, however had been completely ruined. Even the most skilled assassin could not have escaped completely unscathed from the attacks of multiple Talons. Yet in spite of this, the prosecutor seemed to have lessened none of this enthusiasm.

“Guess you never imagined that I didn’t die. Ha!” the prosecutor, normally collected, burst into violent laughter. He pulled off his hood, revealing his dead eyes, glinting like will o'wisps in the dark. “It’s because of the Lazarus water. You thought I was researching it for you? No, I would never die as long as I have it. I will always live, always young, and always the master of Gotham!”

Comparatively, the old Judge shivered from the cold sea breeze. His face showed not a thread of fear nor anger, but sadness. He opened his mouth and said something, and Jason stepped closer to listen.

“Thomas, you’ve overstepped your boundaries. According to the rules, you should have been executed. My goal for the Court today was to have the Jury spare you, to give you one more chance. Had I given the orders, do you think you’d have had the chance to inject the water?”

“I’ve no need of your pity!” Thomas waved his arm, the sword in his hands arcing in a white light as blood was flung from the blade. “I’m indestructible! What can you rotten windbags understand? Compared to the ones I’ve killed, you all are nothing! Weaker than nothing!”

The Judge replied with a brief silent, studying his favourite Talon. At last he sighed, lowering his proud head. “You are so impatient, Thomas. This would have belonged to you as soon as I die - you’d be the master of all this.”

Thomas glowered. “Why would I want something that was given to me, as if I were some beggar, when I could have taken it for myself? I’m a Wayne. Gotham is my birthright!”

“Do you really believe your are Thomas Wayne Jr.?” 

Thomas froze, staring at the Judge’s weathered face. “What?”

“You are but one of many orphans taken in by the Court,” the Judge said. “They all have black hair and blue eyes, features typical of a Wayne. You were given the best education, the mannerisms of upper society, and the belief that you are Thomas Wayne Jr.” Cruelly, the Judge peeled back their entire plan. “We were waiting for the chance to kill the weak heir to the Waynes, and to replace him with one of our own. Too bad, Bruce Wayne not just survived. He’d become our greatest enemy.”

“That’s not… true…” Thomas said, confusion clouding his eyes. “I’m Thomas Wayne…”

“That plan had failed more than ten years ago. According to the rules, you all should have been destroyed. But I chose you to continue the training, to be my best soldier…” the Judge smiled, mocking both himself and the man before him. “To be my son…”

“No...no...no!” Thomas whipped around, his hands shaking until he almost dropped his weapon. He itched to slaughter the man before him, but he could not bring himself to no listen to what he was saying.

“I’ve always considered you my child. I’ve never married nor had children. My everything would have been yours.” the Judge repeated, his ancient voice cracking. “Even when you aren’t Thomas Wayne, you could still rule Gotham as my son….comparable to any Wayne.”

Thomas stared at him, remembering the times when they shared something akin to family between them. It was this old man who raised him from a lowly Talon to the Prosecutor, to be given a position higher than any other members of the Court. Against all the opposition, the Judge had raised him.

“Come here, my child.”

Dazed, Thomas limped forward, and kneeled before him.

“I forgive you for what you did. We can use this chance to rebuild the Court, and get rid of those unworthy.”

“Is that true?”

“Of course, you are my proudest child.”

Jason emerged from the darkness. “How touching,” he said, mirth colouring his voice. “But you actually believed it?”

The two on the balcony turned towards him. The cloud of confusion in Thomas’s eyes dispersed. The Judge, however, stared in shock, and then anger.

It amused Jason. “If this son of a bitch hadn’t used these kind of tactics throughout his term, you think he could’ve stayed alive this long?” Jason pointed at the old man’s face, contorted with rage. “Look at him now, caught in the lie.”

Thomas straightened, silently judging both. A moment later, he closed his eyes, and backed away.

“Shut up, you little runt!” the Judge said, unable to keep himself in check.

Jason laughed out loud. “Did you really inject yourself with Lazarus water?” he asked his teacher.

Thomas opened his eyes, and looked at Jason, who saw himself in that gaze. “The Talons had wounded me badly. I need the real stuff to recover.”

“How many?”

“Shut up!” the Judge screeched. “Shut up! You demon!”

“Five shots.”

Jason grinned, green eyes flitting in between the two of them. He’d never imagined that a day would come when he could manipulate the fate of the most powerful figures in Court.

Terror streamed along the creases of the Judge’s face. It’s over.

“That amount would make people confused for quite a while.”

Thomas approached the Judge once more, the hesitation gone from his eyes. He ran the old man through his sword, the blade piercing through the back of the wheelchair. 

A gurgling noise bubbled in his throat, the Judge stared in disbelief as he reached out with his withered hand. It arched in a shape like the claws of an owl as he grabbed at Thomas.

“My… child.”

Then the old owl died.

Thomas did not let go of the sword skewered through the old man. He turned towards Jason, his gaze piercing as he studied Jason’s young and powerful face, as if he’d kill him the next instant. “Tell me, do you think what he said was true?”

“You don’t need to ask me, my lord Judge.” Jason bowed, shifting his gaze towards the ground and not the eyes of a dead man. “You are the new master here.”

Thomas nodded, satisfied. He let go of the sword. Turning towards the night sky, he laughed as he screamed at the tumultuous sea. “That’s right! I’m Thomas Wayne Jr.! No one can doubt me! I’m Gotham’s master! Anyone who dares to oppose me…shall taste their own blood.”

Jason squinted as he studied his shoes. 

The cards had been reshuffled, and even the players had changed. 


	23. Chapter 21

Dick’s heart clenched.

He thought Jason was only going to leave him, to obtain his freedom through other means, no matter the methods - he even thought Jason would probably kill all the members of the Court. At times like these, the Talon within him would stir awake, the hatred within spilling over until he had to suppress his own urges to take vengeance.

But never had he imagined that Jason would return to the Court, to continue its reign.

_ No, you have. But you chose to ignore the signs. _

That voice within him, silent for so long, resonated within his mind.

A wave of guilt and regret washed over him. If he had talked to Jason, maybe things would have progressed differently.

Talk to him. There may still be a chance.

He took advantage of Tim’s communication with Alfred to sneak away, running back towards Wayne Manor.

The skeletal remains of the house beckoned him. The gardens, attended to so lovingly by Alfred, had been stomped into countless muddy footprints, the flowers grounded into dust. Half of the building had been completely demolished. Not a single window remained intact. A wisp of smoke curtailed from somewhere within.

The grandfather’s clock that guarded the Cave had been shoved aside. A sharp tinge of sulfur, mixed with that of mould, wafted into his nose. A dismembered giant robot sprawled across the floor. Dick’s favourite item in the cave, the T-Rex, had been moved, a Talon crushed beneath its claws.

Damian teetered in front of the computer screen as he struggled with his uniform. Dick couldn’t hear too clearly what he was saying to Batman through the device, but he could see the blood seeping from the bandage on his head.

“Father, I could come with you! I am Robin - I must be by your side - especially now!” 

“No, Robin. Alfred needs you.”

“I don’t think he does!”

“The Talons may attack the manor a second time. This is our base - if we were to lose it, we would lose permanently to the Court.”

“...” Damian slumped his head, unable to argue with Batman’s concerns. At last he sank into the chair. “Alright. I will protect our home.”

“Very good.” 

Damian pursed his lips. It wasn’t long before he noticed Dick.

“Grayson.” He staggered to his feet, glaring at the shadowy figure. “Look at what your Jason Todd had done.”

Dick slumped his back as if he’d been punched. A pang of guilt caught Damian, but he didn’t know how to apologize.

“Are you okay? I heart you were knocked out.” Dick didn’t come near.

Damian touched the wound on his forehead, and frowned in irritation. “My teacher would never beat someone up “gently”. I should be grateful that this is all he gave me.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t ask me. When I woke, all the Talons that attacked this place had been frozen by Father.”

“And Jason….?”

Damian sighed in irritation. “Grayson, let me make this clear. Everything he does he did it for you.”

Dick answered with silence.

“On some basis, we are very similar people, he and I. All we care about is the result, not the method. I can understand why he chose to do this.” Damian looked at Dick with a gaze that should not belong to an eleven-year-old. For a moment, Dick thought it was Jason that sat before him. “I think you should find him ASAP. Don’t let things go worse than this.” Damian brought up Batman’s location onto the computer screen.

Before arriving at the manor on Sullivan Island, Grayson maintained a measure of hope. After all, Jason took care to hide Damian, and he could have taken his chance to kill Batman. He could have been threatened, blackmailed. 

All that evaporated as soon as he saw the bloodbath at the Court’s base.

Batman did not seem surprised at his arrival. He barely acknowledged him, focusing on the tiniest clues amongst the dead bodies. Dick huddled in a corner, trying to avoid the blood, terror, and sadness that plagued him.

“Did Jason do this?” Dick ventured.

“The bodies are cold to touch, but their joints are still movable, their skin supple. Approximate time of death, at most two hours.” Batman stood up from the body he’d been examining. “To get here from Wayne Manor, he must cross the entire city. The timing doesn’t match up.”

Dick let out a sigh.

“And most of the footprints belong to another. A height of about six foot two or six foot three - taller than Jason Todd….” Batman picked up a rough-looking heart-shaped brooch from between the railings of the porch. “I think I found something.”

* * *

 

The Kane County was much different from the highlights of Gotham. It immersed itself in the middle of a myriad of marshes. No matter how perfectly the houses were designed, they would slowly sink into the mud, year after of year. Who knows how much steel and concrete, shadows and bones, had been buried beneath.

Reolin Orphanage and Foster home was located here. Consecutive rain had caused much of it to sink and collapse, and the bones of abused children came to light. Since then, it had been abandoned to the point that even the homeless shunned it.

There was a saying that at night, shadows would lurk therein, accompanied by screams.

The long grasses that had taken over the yard were withered, burying the rusty playground within. The walls were spotted, the wood behind the plaster blackened and gnawed by termites. In the next instant, the whole building could collapse. A thicket of withered trees locked death within the walls, their branches reaching up towards the sky in arcs of pain that split the clouds.

Jason and the prosecutor crossed the thicket, spotting the owl carved onto the pillar in front of the orphanage; a greeting for an old visitor. The rain ceased to a drizzle. Without the torrents of water, the stench of rot rose once again from the marches. 

The orphanage is not just a place for taking in unwanted children, but also the entrance to the maze of the Court, the “home” for all the Talons.

Jason did not know when this all started, but without a doubt many of the Talons were once orphans who lived here.

Jason himself maintained some memory of this place, but not much. Everytime he had been called to return here, his mind had been befuddled. He could not recall where this was exactly.

But when he opened those thick metal doors, a familiar sense of disgust crept into his heart. It was as if he was walking towards his own grave. Comparatively, Thomas seemed calm - though an unnatural elation brightened his eyes, glittering like that of owls.

His demeanor unnerved Jason. He had wanted to keep Thomas as a reliable ally, someone to keep the Court in tact enough for Jason to control part of it - enough to keep Dick safe.

But Thomas’ current behaviour called the plan into question. After injecting himself with water from the Lazarus pit, Thomas had shed all his disguise, physically and mentally. His dull white skin turned a somewhat more living colour, but not enough to be taken as normal. His collected and elegant demeanor, a mockery of Gotham’s upper society, was all but gone - replaced by the insecurity and uncontrollable arrogance that had been eaten away at him for years.

It was amusing to watch someone sink into insanity, but also would mean much trouble.

Thomas kicked open the doors. They dropped to the floor, throwing up clouds of dust. The deafening sound echoed through the old building.

“Ah, home sweet home. Jason, you can’t deny that this is our birthplace!” Thomas took a deep whiff of the dust.

Jason’s brows knitted together, unwilling to respond.

“You don’t seem too pleased with my arrangements, my prosecutor.” The new judge was displeased with Jason’s silence.

“I am,” Jason replied. “We should be taking care to hide ourselves, not to announce to the world our mutiny. The Court had been changed enough tonight - we can’t afford to take further risks.”

Thomas’s face darkened, the elation in his eyes vanished. “You are doubting my decisions? I need all the Talons to obey me absolutely. And then they’d make others obey me too.”

“You just injected yourself with the Lazarus water. No matter how I look at it, you are not at your best condition.” Jason said, undaunted. “You are rushing the process. The Judge is dead - the Court is yours. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Time? Yes. Time. I need the Court for myself now. This instant!” Thomas stepped closer towards Jason, his hands clenching at his legs; in the next instant, they could be at Jason’s neck. “I’ll be the king here! I will replace Bruce Wayne! I will be the savior of this city!”

“But your plan failed, Thomas.” Jason raised an eyebrow, mocking Thomas as he ignored the latter’s rage. “In your anger you killed all the important members. Do you think others would not know?”

Thomas burst out in laughter, the sound grating on Jason’s ears. “All the ones left are nobodies! I could kill them with just one hand. And all the wealth consolidated by the Court is under the corporations at my bidding! As long as I’m here, the Court would belong to me. If they were to disobey, then I’ll make them lose everything!”

Jason had to admit that before the plan had been executed, Thomas had taken due care in every aspect. As to the reasons for failure, it had to do with how much the old Judge know about Thomas the Talon - who wouldn’t know that much about his son?”

“What about Batman? Jason asked. “Jason, our Bruce Wayne - was not killed by Talons. He won. He’d find the Sullivan manor. He’d find here. He’d find all the secrets. Maybe the nobodies you talked about would be used by him to defeat you. No matter what they try, Batman will find them.”

Thomas’s laughter came to an abrupt halt.

Jason leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “He’s the best detective I’ve seen. He will find you. Thus, the best plan right now is to hide until you recover.”

Unknown to Jason, two voices waged battle within Thomas’s mind.

One voice was the old Judge, his ghost lingered behind his back, his voice earnest as he instructed him patiently: “Your student is right. You not only exposed the existence of the Court, but also weakened it. Bruce Wayne would use this chance to destroy it permanently.”

The other voice was the most loyal friend of “Lincoln March”: Bruce Wayne, prince of Gotham. He wore a pristine tuxedo, his lips curved in an elegant, mocking smile. “You could only become mayor with my help. You are nothing without me but a chess piece for the Court of Owls. You can’t beat me. You can’t do anything without help.”

A young boy materialized in his mind. His face was pale, the colour of corpses. In his hands he gripped a sword dripping with blood. “Stop thinking about it. You are no Wayne,” he said, the gaze of his grey eyes piercing Thomas’s body. “You are but an orphan. You were born here, and you may die here. You can’t hold a candle to Bruce Wayne. You are nameless.”

The boy snicked. “But you have a chance to change all this. Maybe you’ll succeed, and get everything you wanted.”

Jason watched as Thomas’s face twisted in a myriad of emotions. The man was embroiled in the hallucinations concocted by the Lazarus Pit. 

As if to confirm Jason’s suspicions, Thomas waved the weapon his hands, screaming at nothing. “You can’t defeat me!” He burst into maniacal laughter. “I am Gotham! I’m nobody’s subordinate, nobody’s toy…. I’m not…” He whirled around the floor, destroying anything he could see.

Jason teetered backwards, his eyes locked on Thomas’s every movement. Annoyance pricked at his mind, already fragile with minimal self-control. More than anyone else he hated Thomas’s arrogance - it was what caused their plan to fail, and for everything to come to this. But he had no choice but to continue supporting him.

The Court needed an insider as their leader, someone with enough influence and power to control both the members and the Talons. Without brainwashing, the Talons could easily kill all the members - like what happened at the manor.

If there were no one to control the Talons, what would become of the Court?

The thought blinked into existence in Jason’s mind, and refused to leave.

Thomas’s eyes met his. Like two predators they sized each other, gauging, waiting.

Unlike Jason, however, Thomas’s gaze seemed more confused than wary. “Are you the demon sent to kill me? No…. you are a spy sent by Thomas… you must be… otherwise my brother couldn’t have survived my attack…. I already arranged for my men to infiltrate…” He muttered, unable to recognize Jason.

Jason’s heart sank. Given the circumstances, things would only get worse for Thomas. The Lazarus may grant life, extend youth, but could also sink people into perpetual insanity. It doesn’t plant the horrors, but rather magnify what’s already there. 

Not even a saint could escape this. The dirty little thoughts would feed off of the host’s life, grow bigger, until one day they take up the entire mind. Jason thought himself but such a host.

The price for cheating death.

“Who are you?” Thomas asked.

“Jason Todd.”

Thomas fell silent, straining to recall his memories. “Then who am I?”

“Thomas Wayne, the indestructible judge of the Court of Owls,” Jason answered, enticing his darkest thoughts.

Thomas’s expression softened as he heard the words he wanted. But then insecurity took over once more. “Jason, will I take over this city?”

“You will.” Jason wanted nothing more than to kill this man right now - maybe everything can start from level zero - but that’s impossible.

Thomas resisted the tempting tone of Jason’s voice. A wicked smile curved his mouth as he remembered. “I know you, Jason. You are only helping me to use me. Everything you’ve done for the sake of your little lover. Ha!” His laughter was shrill, the sound of owls screeching at night. The sound turned Jason’s blood to ice.

When Dick and Jason first met this man, he also laughed like this - a laugh indicative of having found something amusing.

“Don’t try to fool me, Jason. You want nothing more than to kill me, and yet you could only rely on me! I will not give you want you want, but I can’t kill you either - I also need you.”

Jason did not hear the rest of the rubbish Thomas spoke of, his mind plagued by irritation and an unspeakable rage - he wanted to destroy the man before him but can't - and Thomas was but the same.

“What do you need me to do,” Jason asked, but did not lower his gun.

“To free all the Talons. I will forge a path in the blood of anyone who dares to stand in our way.” Thomas played with the dagger in his hands, the blade glimmering in the darkness. “No matter who… no matter what…”

 


	24. Chapter 22

“Do you know this place?” Batman asked Dick, pointing at the orphanage.

“I’m not sure…” A measure of strange familiarity seeped into his heart. “I think I’ve been here before…”

“This used to be a children’s hospital, and was renovated into an orphanage specifically for mentally-ill children,” Batman said, his voice hoarse. He played with the heart-shaped brooch in his hands. It was roughly crafted, like something a child would make. “I asked Robin to do some research, and found that the pipes under this building are abnormally numerous. Even after being abandoned, electricity continued to be used in this place - and in great amounts.”

“So, you think this is a base for the Court?”

“Just one of them. The Court is quite cunning, and never uses a permanent base. It does, however, have several important locations that hides their most valued secrets. That manor on Sullivan Island is one of them.”

Dick had no interest in the detective’s analysis; he’s only concerned about Jason. “Is he here?”

“That would depend on our luck.” Batman approached the front door. “Tonight, the Court is undergoing drastic changes. We could use this chance to topple them completely.”

“What happened?”

“All the important members have died at the manor - an inside job.” Batman seemed to hint at something, but would elaborate no further. “And the fact that all the active Talons had been sent out goes against the subtle nature of their normal operations. Someone must have skipped the authorities and gave the order to the Talons directly. This is an internal struggle for power.”

“Best they kill each other.”

“From what we’ve seen at the manor, they’ve already found their new leader. This is a person who lacks both the superiority complex of the upper class as well as empathy for other’s lives. He will transform the Court into a scarier place.” Batman narrowed his eyes. “We can’t let that happen.”

Dick thought of his teacher, the only one that could match Batman’s description. And Jason met with him just before. Since then Jason hadn’t left beyond Dick’s sight, and Dick had thought the two of them had split over disagreements - he had never thought that they’d have planned this in such a short time.

“You think Jason orchestrated this?”

Batman remained silent. At last, he said: “The Talon I’ve captured called Todd their prosecutor.”

His agitation peacking at those words, Dick increased his pace.

The building had six floors in addition to a basement. They decided to split up to save time, with Dick going below and Batman heading upwards.

The basement had no windows, and the air but stifled. It pressed down on Dick’s lungs, choking out air. It added to the dreaded silence, magnifying the echo of Dick’s footsteps and even his breaths. 

Dick’s senses heightened, in case of a sneak attack.

After descending the stairs, he switched on the infrared vision on his goggles. Green filled his vision. Thick dust almost covered the baseboards; only the metal skeleton of a hospital bed remained, toppled on its side. From there extended a winding corridor, framed by two rusted metal doors not unlike the ones in prison.

Only now did Dick remember those two doors, and that long, suffocating tunnel. He remembered stumbling through it to the stairs, and had almost tripped over a chair. At that time, he’d just been revived, his mind still muddled - all his movements had been at the orders of the Court and instinct.

Each set of metal doors revealed only more dust and garbage, and only served to increase his agitation. He’d been down here for about thirty minutes, and yet he had seen not a single guard - this is uncharacteristic of the Court.

Unless the guards had already been taken out. Who was it?

He dared not think.

Soon he arrived at the end of the basement, bare but for the scratched walls. Just as he was about to turn, he spotted an insidious snake of blood trickling along the walls; it came to a sudden end.

Upon inspection, Dick spotted a crack under the line, and felt the slightest trickle of a draft. He groped around in the darkness, gingerly feeling for the pad hidden under the bricks. He pressed it, and the secret door opened, having not been securely closed in the first place.

As soon as it opened, a white fluorescent light blinded him. Combined with the pain was the smell of blood.

Within seconds, Dick recovered enough to see before him.

Behind the door was a staircase much wider than the one he had descended. The walls were once snow-white, without a speck of dust. Now they were smeared with blood and riddled with bullet holes. The bodies of Talons were strewn across the stairs, their black hoods still intact. The blood had dried on their wounds, leaving dark stains on black cloth.

The guards of this place.

Suppressing the feeling of nauseation, Dick stepped carefully over the bodies, descending further down into the earth. Another padlocked door greeted him, encrypted with a fingerprint and pupil scanner. But the door had been opened. Another Talon, one that was missing an eye and a finger, had fallen before it. 

Behind the door was a new world.

Batman was right. The orphanage was one of, if not the most important, bases. This was where the labs of the Court were located. Talons were born here, and they may also die here. The nutrient liquid that powers them were made here assembly-line style, as were the various drugs and other medications.

According to Dick’s memories, there was not a single person who worked here that did not play some critical role. Clad in full hazmat suits, an army of medical personnel patrolled the place. They came quick and left even faster, lacking the basic empathy for human lives. Talons were but lab rats here. But at this moment in time, not a single living soul remained. The floor was piled with bodies.

They all wore white masks, their blood blooming red on their white uniforms. Bullet shells littered the floor, glinting under the fluorescent light.

Dick’s stomach twisted together, threatening to purge its contents. He stubbornly clung to but one thought: it’s not Jason that did this.

He stumbled across a glass room filled with intricate machines, and stopped in front of another lab. Other than the screen, there was only a chair with straps.

Even now, Dick still remembered how the medical personnel had taken him to this chair, and strapped him down. What followed was the piercing of needles. He had looked out the glass then, and laughed at himself; he was about to lose all that he held dear, and yet nobody would care.

At the end of this lab was another large set of metal doors. Behind it was the Talons’ cemetery. A pair of owls, carved out of white stone and reaching two stories-tall, loomed on either side - like guardian angels on a tombstone looking down on its children. Rows upon rows of blood-red coffins lined the room neatly, each one connected to a pipe containing the nutrient liquid. The pipes all conglomerated to one place, inserting into the walls.

It was like the Court were breeding pigs. They’d only wake them to be slaughtered when they needed them. Dick did not remember how he was lifted out of the coffin, but he did remember the light here - he had thought it was light of a shooting star.

The people that monitored this room met the same fate as their colleagues outside. However, one person alone stood - the one Dick wanted to see the most. He felt not elation, however, only dread.

Jason stood in front of a large control panel, his hands flying across the keyboard. Slowly, he turned, not a hint of surprise. He did not stop what he was doing. “You’ve arrived earlier than I expected.”

“You know what Batman is capable of,” Dick said, wary of Jason’s demeanor.

“I’ve got to admit. That old bat really is something.”

Dick glanced around the room. “Where’s our teacher?”

Jason smirked; Dick despised it. “Wherever Batman is, he is. They are probably fighting right now. Isn’t it great? Dog biting dog.”

Dick gingerly approached the control panel. He did not understand Jason’s betrayal. “Then what are you doing here.” He’d thought Jason would refuse to answer. But he was again wrong.

“To release all the Talons.”

Dick would rather believe that Jason wanted to destroy all the Talons. Maybe that’s why he colluded with the prosecutor… not for… for evil.

“Don’t lie to me, Jason.”

“Why would I lie to you?” Jason stopped. He turned to look at Dick, amused.

“Will they die?”

“They are already dead, Dickiebird.” Jason turned from the control panel and stopped a few feet away from Dick. “They will kill all the ones opposing Thomas and the Court. Oh, forgot to tell you. Our teacher says he’s another successor to the Wanye family. He’s gonna fight the Batman for his birthright. Who knows what’s real?”

“Some Talon said you’ve become the new prosecutor,” Dick pressed. “Is that true?”

Jason’s face darkened. For the first time, Dick is afraid of Jason’s calm; it was as if he had nothing to lose. A Jason like this cared not for any consequence.

“Why couldn’t I be?”

Despair overwhelmed Dick. He had thought Jason must have been blackmailed into helping with all this, but no matter how he looked at it now, Jason made his own choice. Tonight, Jason Todd would inherit the Court, and become someone they’ve both hated. 

“Many people died tonight because of what you two did. And you killed everyone here. Why, Jason? When did you become so careless about all of this?”

“They wouldn’t have died if they didn’t resist. Too bad.” Jason shrugged. “Besides, they deserved it. Remember what they did to us?”

“But it’s not on us to judge them!” Dick said, Batman’s words resonating with him. “We could have turned them over to be judged by the law instead!”

“Oh my God.” Jason pressed a hand to his forehead. “You still believe in justice, Dick? The old bat brainwashed you good.”

“No, I know exactly what I’m saying,” Dick said, unrelenting. “I know that the laws may not be sufficient to topple the Court, but if we were to judge them ourselves, how does that make us any different from them?!”

“Are you really sad about their deaths? Please, what do they have to do with us? Aren’t you misplacing your sympathies?”

“Not just members of the Court died tonight, Jason, but also a lot of innocents in the city!”

“Dick, nobody is without sin in this world; even newborns carry the burdens of their parents. Remember those kids wearing the white masks in the Court? They usually come up with the most cruel decisions.”

Dick fell silent, unable to refute. 

“In this underground world, law can’t save us. Don’t be so naive.”

“And so you are willing to become Thomas Wayne’s assistant, to help him kill people?”

Jason snorted. “I never said I was a good person.”

“It’s not like you,” Dick shook his head. “My Little Wing would never do this…”

“Then you never really knew me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do in order to get what I want.”

Anger replaced any sadness he might have harboured. It heated his entire body. “What do you want? Just to live?!” Dick snapped his head back, looking up at Jason. “How is that any different from wild beasts?! I’d rather die for justice than to live like this.”

Jason lifted his head, as if seeking a sign from above in the white light. Only a minute later did he turn back to Dick. His green eyes faded, and he studied Dick as if he were an object.

This brief silence caused Dick to relieve his entire existence; his instinct wanted him to flee, but he pushed on. He must know.

“Do you really think I did this for you?”

“What did you say?”

“Dickiebird, after exposure to the Lazarus, I’ve learnt not to trust anything I see.” Wariness creeped onto Jason’s face. “Ever since I opened my eyes in the Batcave, I haven’t believed in anything I’ve seen as real.”

“What?!”

“You are all fake, a lie created by my head. But this time this hallucination was all too real - it confused me for the longest time.”

“Jason, please stay calm. If you aren’t sure, then why don’t you try to believe one more time? For me….”

“I’ve been tricked way too many times. All my patience and trust are but gone - there weren’t much of them to begin with.” Jason stopped, and a gentle smile permeated his face. “And you, are the most real hallucination I’ve had yet. And it’s because of you that I’ve decided to fight on, and not to let them kill you. I want to protect you, to let you live. No matter what. As long as you are here, this dream will continue.”

Jason bowed his head. “Dickiebird, I’m really scared. I’m scared that the real you had long since died in that middle of nowhere, buried amongst the mud….. Rather than waking up to that, I’d rather stay here, a world with you.”

Dick didn’t know whether to take Jason into his arms or push him away. A part of him agonized over Jason’s fragile state, another part remained abhorrent over what Jason had done.

He had no choice but to steady what little sanity Jason had left. “I don’t know how I can help you believe… but please stop hurting other people, okay? That’s my last request.”

“Why should I trust a mere hallucination?” Jason said, genuinely perplexed. “I care only about you…. As for the others, they aren’t real anyway - what’s wrong if they were to disappear.”

The screen above the control panel bleeped. “Defrost complete. Talon release in fifteen minutes.”

Dick froze, watching as Jason’s look of confusion dissolved away to one of victory. 

“Do you really think I said all that just to gain your sympathy?” Jason said.

He did it on purpose! Jason was delaying him!

Dick rushed towards the control panel, but Jason cut him off.

“Get out of my way, Jason!” Dick ordered, aghast. “Don’t force my hand.”

“Try me, Dickiebird.”

Without further hesitation, Dick swung his knee at Jason’s right rib. As Jason blocked, the enormous force set numbness of us left arm. Suppressing the pain, Jason grabbed Dick’s leg and flipped him over. Reaching out, Dick supported himself with his hands on the floor and flipped once in midair, landing perfectly a distance away.

Now Dick was at a disadvantage. Jason pulled out the gun in his holster and started shooting in Dick’s direction. Relying on instinct, Dick stayed low on the ground, feeling a bullet glance his scalp. He flung his knives in retaliation.

The blades distracted Jason enough that one was able to successfully enter the barrel of Jason’s gun. The bullet exploded.

Throwing away the piece of scrap metal, Jason charged forward like a tank. Dick avoided direct confrontation, taking advantage of openings to attack Jason at his weaker points. But slowly, Jason forced Dick into a corner.

Strictly speaking Dick was a better fighter, but he was concerned about the control panel and was unwilling to give his all. No matter what, he needed to stop this. But he couldn’t hurt Jason to do it. 

Time doesn’t allow him that luxury.

_ Don’t hesitate, Dick. Your tolerance will only make him go further down this path. _

That instant, Dick released the Talon within him. 

Talon growled, charging directly towards the barrel of Jason’s other gun. Dick could only watch as the bullet pierced his left shoulder. The numbing pain didn’t stop the Talon, who kicked away Jason’s gun and forced him down to the floor with his own weight. The next instant, he withdrew his dagger and stabbed Jason clean through his hand, nailing him to the floor. Before the Talon could go further, Dick pulled himself back, grabbing control of his own body once more.

Jason did not groan from the pain. Sweat trickled down his bleached face. His eyes glared at Dick, filled with something he could not understand. For a moment, Dick thought he made the wrong choice.

His earpiece crackled. Batman’s voice came through: “Dick, your teacher is dead.” 

Batman was panting, and his voice was laced pain. It hadn’t been an easy battle.

Dick did not report to Batman his status, instead yelling at Jason: “He’s dead! Batman destroyed him. The court is done for! Jason. You can still stop now.”

Jason froze. His eyes widened. Like a gambler, he had bet everything on Thomas Wayne, but for naught.

Dick lowered his head, until their faces were only a few inches apart. Watching Jason’s despair, he didn’t know whether he should pity him or remain angry. At last he said: “Jason, my wishes are simple. As long as we are together, no matter where, I’d be happy…. I only want you by my side, I’ll make you believe I’m real….”

Pain pierced his neck. He lifted his arm, a heaviness washing over him. A needle was at his neck, the end in Jason’s other hand.

Jason removed the needle when their hands touched. Dick watched him, confused, as the despair in Jason’s face became replaced with a certain calm. 

He crawled up from on top of Jason, stumbling towards the control panel. Several times he tripped over the bodies of fallen Talons. Jason made no move to stop him, instead yanking the dagger out of his hand. The sound of the metal hitting the floor was but a needle dropping to Dick’s dulled senses.

Darkness pricked at his field of vision. His limbs refused to cooperate. Everything felt like cotton around him. His feet collapsed beneath him. Fear descended….

He was going to fall.

Jason caught him. Dick leaned against Jason’s torso, feeling the numbness set in. At this point, he could only move his fingers. In his rapidly receding vision, he could see Jason’s back and the cracked floor tiles, the scent of cigarettes at the tip of nose.

“Leave me, Dick,” Jason’s voice pierced the darkness. “Go somewhere better, prettier. As long as I’m here, you’ll be safe.”


	25. Chapter 25

By the time Jason carried Dick out of the orphanage, the rain had stopped.

Thomas Wayne, having become the king of Gotham for just one night, had already been toppled by the Batman. Maybe he had joined Batman’s exhibit in the cave even, Jason thought. A sign to the world that Batman could not be cowered.

And as for Jason?

In order to maintain this dream, he betrayed Batman, killed countless people, and even harmed the one he loved most. But the result was nothing he’d wanted.

He sighed. Fate was a strange thing.

He placed Dick under a withered tree. Removing his gloves, he gingerly touched Dick’s cheek with his good hand. Unlike the sickly paleness from that first time, the dark healthy colour of the Romani people had returned to Dick’s skin. From this face, Jason could almost see that day from more than a decade ago when, in the rain, he met him.

If he could, he would have prayed that they should never meet. Had Dick not met him, then maybe he would have been spared this fate. But more often, he thanked God for bringing them together.

Richard Grayson was the most important person in Jason’s life. He’s optimistic, persistent, and kind. Too bad Jason learnt none of that.

It’s probably their destiny.

Dick’s earpiece crackled. Jason plucked it from him and inserted it into his own ear. 

“Grayson,” Damian’s voice came through. “Red Robin had successfully come into contact with Batman. What is your status?”

“Come pick him up.”

Damian fell silent for about three seconds. “Jason, your plan failed. The new Judge is dead.”

Jason smirked. The kid was so not cute. “I know.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“You must receive punishment.” Damian paused, as if regretting his harsh words. “If you are willing to repent, I believe father would still accept you. But I don’t think you’ll accept that. You didn’t do this out of impulsiveness.”

“You know me best. I wish you well, dear student.” Jason crushed the earpiece.

Dawn seeped over the retreating storm clouds, lighting up the fringes of the sky in brilliant gold. Jason looked up. 

It looked like it’ll be a great day.

He returned to the basement, waiting for the Talons to awaken. In a few seconds, they will all be released.

Plopping down on the floor beside the control panel, Jason studied the wound Dick left on his palm with fascination. He didn’t attempt to stop the bleeding. The Lazarus water within him had already sealed the wound, slowly repairing the cells. However, its power seemed to have faded. Jason could barely see any different in the wound from a while ago.

A few more days, perhaps, the water would completely be metabolized. By then Jason Todd would once again be mortal.

Before the coffins opened, the control system blinked another question across the screen. “Should all the samples be placed under mind control?”

Jason paused. Thomas was dead. The choice no longer really mattered.

An idea emerged. Jason pressed the button for “no.”

The coffins opened one by one. Sitting up, the Talons looked puzzled. Like newborn foals they peered around with their own eyes for the very first time. They crawled from their confinement, their limbs shaking. Everyone looked around, finding each other familiar but also strange.

Jason watched with neither joy nor regret, just uncertainty. Thomas was dead, the Court would fall. A horde of tigers without collars had been released.

And yet he promised Dick safety.

A Talon approached. The first to recover, this one was a middle-aged man, his skin akin to bark. He must have been an assassin for a very long time. His hands closed to fists, but Jason could tell he meant no harm. Intelligence seeped back into those dead eyes.

“You are number 139?” he asked. “I believe you are the one that freed us.”

“I’m Jason Todd, not some number,” Jason said. “I’ll tell you another good news. The Court is done for. But soon enough other branches will send people to take over this place. So you should run while you can.”

The Talon stiffly curved the corner of his mouth. “They are everywhere. How do you suppose a bunch of corpses is supposed to run?”

“Then run farther.” Jason stood up, his wound still quivering.

“All the Court lacks now is a leader. As long as there is a new leader, Gotham would still belong to it.” The Talon seemed to know much.

Jason glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s time for Talons to call the shots.”

Jason raised his eyebrows, and then smiled, satisfied.

This is what he’s waiting for.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translator's notes: Here it is! The end of the fic! There are a few side shots after this, but the main arc has finished. Thank you for everyone that supported this all the way to now. Cheers!


End file.
